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WORKS OF 

Eotolanti (Siisan |)a^arU. 

Edited by his Granddaugliter Caroline Hazard. 

In four volumes, crown 8vo, each, $2.00 ; the set, 

JS.oo. 
ESSAY ON LANGUAGE AND OTHER PAPERS. 

New Edition. With Portrait. 
FREEDOM OF MIND IN WILLING; or, Every 

Being that Wills a Creative First Cause. New 

Edition. 
TWO LETTERS ON CAUSATION AND FREE- 
DOM OF MIND IN WILLING, addressed to John 

Stuart Mill, etc. New Edition. 
ECONOMICS AND POLITICS. 

HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN AND COMPANY, 
Boston and New York. 



FREEDOM OF MIND IN WILLING 



OR X 



EVERY BEING THAT WILLS A CREATIVE 
FIRST CAUSE 



ROWLAND GIBSON HAZARD, ll. d. 









-s^l 



EDITED BY HIS GRANDDAUGHTER 

CAROLINE HAZARD 




VjrA5H!N6T5^ 



BOSTON AND NEW YORK 
HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN AND COMPANY 



^. 






Copyright, 1864, 1889, and 1892, by 
D. APPLETON & CO., CAROLIISnE HAZARD, AND ROWLAND HAZARD. 

All rights reserved. 



The Riverside Press, Cambridge, Mass., U S. A. 
Printed by H. 0. Houghton & Company. 



EDITOR'S PREFACE. 



This book owes its origin, as my grandfather was 
always glad to say, to his friendship and conversa- 
tion with Dr. Chanuing. Some time previous to 1840 
Dr. Channing directed his attention to Edwards and 
the problems of Free Will and Necessity, asking him 
to prepare an argument which should logically refute 
that of Edwards. This, encouraged by Dr. Chan- 
ning, he consented to undertake. 

" My progress in it was slow," he writes, " perhaps 
the slower because I soon concluded that all the advo- 
cates of freedom had virtually given up the philosoph- 
ical argument and fallen back, either on revelation or 
their own consciousness — which weighed nothing with 
those who questioned the supreme authority of the 
Bible, or asserted their consciousness was not that 
they acted freely but the reverse. Hence I resolved 
not to read, lest I should get into these ruts of thought, 
which evidently did not lead to the point I wished to 
reach, but would first try to work out the problem in 
my own way. From Edwards I learned what the 
questions were, and began to think about them in my 
usual desultory way as I was travelling about, or in 
such leisure moments as I could spare from my I'egu- 



IV EDITOR'S PREFACE. 

lar business, and became more and more interested in 
the pursuit." 

My grandfather spent ten consecutive winters at 
the South, the last of which was 1842-3. After 
several years of thought, in 1843 he considered him- 
self prepared on all the principal points of the argu- 
ment. His notes were full and complete, and needed 
only arranging and rewriting, when by an unfortunate 
accident he lost them all. A steamer upon which he 
travelled from Mobile to New Orleans ran aground, 
and the passengers were transferred, leaving their 
baggage. My grandfather never recovered his trunk 
which contained his notes. He learned that it had 
been stolen, and in New Orleans discovered a bit of 
clothing embroidered with his initials by his mother. 
He never found a trace of the papers, and finally con- 
cluded they had been burned. This was a great blow 
to him. Dr. Channing was no longer living to en- 
courage him, his business was pressing, and it was not 
until 1857 that he returned to the work which ended 
in the publication of this volume. His mind pro- 
gressed during the years he was not actively engaged 
upon these problems, and when the book was finally 
finished he considered it had gained much by the 
delay. He had also the assistance of his eldest son 
in reading the proof, and perfecting the form ; an 
assistance impossible at the earlier period. 

The book which began in the fi'iendship of Dr. 
Channing, ended by winning that of John Stuart 
Mill. " We often think and talk of you," writes 



EDITOR'S PREFACE. V 

Mr. Mill from Avignon, in November, 1865, "both 
at Blackheath and here where we first saw you." Of 
the book Mr. Mill writes : " It is very clearly thought 
and expressed, and draws some metaphysical distinc- 
tions which though quite correct are often disre- 
garded ; for instance that fundamental one between 
volition and choice." Later he writes : "I do not 
mean any compliment in saying that I wish you had 
no-thing to do but to philosophize, for though I often 
do not agree with you, I see in everything that you 
write a well-marked natural capacity for philosophy." 
The volume was published in New York by D. Ap 
pleton & Co. in 1864, and passed to a second edition 
in 1866. The changes made in the present edition 
were all indicated by my grandfather in the annotated 
copy which he kept beside him. They will be found 
chiefly in the latter part of the first book, and are all 
in the direction of clearness and simplicity. 

Oakwoods in Peace Dale, R. I., 
November, 1888. 



AUTHOR'S PREFACE. 



The public mind is at present so engrossed with other 
pursuits, and so satisfied with its progress in them, that there 
is little room to hope that it will bestow much attention upon 
the subject of this volume. Physical Science and Material 
Progress are now the absorbing objects of effort. To these 
all utility is ascribed, to the exclusion of the Metaphysical, 
which lies under the imputation of being both uninteresting 
and useless. Why this opprobrium and whence the general 
neglect, the absolute indisposition, to inquire into the struc- 
ture and conditions of our spiritual being, which, as the source 
of all our power and all our enjoyments, one might naturally 
suppose would most interest us, and at the same time, by its 
mystery, most excite our curiosity ? That the discoveries in 
Physics, so varied and so magnificent, have largely contributed 
to our material comforts, have feasted the intellect and even 
regaled the imagination, is undoubtedly one cause of this 
neglect of the science of mind. But there are other reasons, 



Vlll AUTHOR S PREFACE. 

among which. A^e may mention the real difficulties of the 
subject. These are of two distinct kinds ; first, those of 
ascertaining the truths ; and second, those of imparting them 
after they have been ascertained. The first of these are, 
in some respects, peculiar. We want to examine that 
which examines ; we want the mind to be employed in 
observing its own action, i. e., we want it to be doing one 
thing when it is of necessity doing another. A further 
difficulty, even in the investigation of the phenomena of 
mind, arises from the fact that the language applied to 
metaphysical science is very imperfect as an instrument 
of thought. The science of mind has very little language 
of its own, and in adopting for it what has been formed 
and fitted to another department of knowledge, much con- 
fusion and error result. The ambiguity, or various mean- 
ings of the terms, so often mislead the investigator himself, that 
he is not unfrequently obliged to rehnquish the instrumen- 
tal aid of words, and directly examine his original ideas 
and conceptions of the subjects of inquiry. The difficulty 
of imparting the results in a language so imperfect is 
obvious, and is increased when it has been discarded in 
reaching them. 

But, with aU this inappreciation of its benefits and all 
its recognized difficvdties, Metaphysics has its peculiar 
attractions. The questions of every child, the yearnings 
of the advdt, though in expression only occasionally gleam- 
ing through the settled gloom of discouragement and de- 
spondency, still manifest the fervid curiosity in regard to 
that mysterious invisible^ which knows, thinks, feels and 



AUTHORS PEEFACE. IX 

acts ; and even in those too busy, too shiggisli, or too 
hopeless to put forth an effort to gratify it. 

The reason of its being neglected lies not so much in 
its want of attraction, as in the prevailing idea of its in- 
utility ; and this idea, though now magnified by temporary 
causes, has a foundation in the fact, that no investigation 
of the nature of our faculties and powers, mental or physi- 
tjal, is essential to that use of them which our early exist- 
ence demands. For this we have the requisite knowledge 
by intuition. "We can use our powers without studying 
either Anatomy or Metaphysics. It is not, then, surpris- 
ing that we should early direct our attention to the study 
of those extrinsic substances and phenomena of which more 
knowledge is obviously and immediately useful. The want 
of satisfactory results has also had its influence ; and per- 
haps there is no question, the discussion of which has 
tended more to bring upon Metaphysics the reproach of 
being unfruitful, than that of the " Freedom of the Will." 
The importance of removing this grand obstruction to the 
progress of ethics and theology, is appreciated only by 
those who in their researches have encountered it. They 
alone have caught glimpses of the radiant fields of specu- 
lation which lie beyond ; and most men regard the specu- 
lations upon it, not only as having furnished no new truth, 
but as having obscured what was before known. 

Whatever opinion may be formed of the success or 
failure, of my effort to elucidate this subject, I trust it wiU 
be admitted, that the arguments I have presented, at least, 
tend to show that the investigation may open more elevated 



X AUTHOR S PREFACE. 

and more elevating views of our position and our powers ; 
and may reveal new modes of influencing our own intel- 
lectual and moral character, and thus have a more imme- 
diate, direct, and practical bearing on the progress of our 
race in virtue and happiness, than any inquiry in physical 
science. 

Peace Dale, R. I., 1864. 



CONTENTS. 



FXaG 

Introductory Essay. The Philosophical Writings op Row- 
land G. Hazard. By George P. Fisher, D. D., LL. D. xv 

BOOK I. 

FREEDOM OF MIND IN WILLING. 

CHAPTER I. 
Of the Existence of Spirit 1 

CHAPTER II. 
Of the Existence op Matter ...... 5 

CHAPTER HI. 
Of Mind 9 

CHAPTER IV. 
Liberty, or Freedom , , 19 

CHAPTER V. 
Of Cause 21 

CHAPTER VI. 
Of the Will 24 

CHAPTER VII. 
Op Want .27 

CHAPTER VIII. 
Of Matter as Cause .32 



xii CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER IX. 

Of Spirit as Cause ,. , . .42 

CHAPTER X. 
Freedom of Intelligence 51 

CHAPTER XI. 
Instinct and Habit 98 

CHAPTER XII. 
Illustration from Chess 126 

CHAPTER XIII. 
Of Want and Effort in Various Orders of Intelligence . 136 

CHAPTER XIV. 
Of Effort for Internal Change 145 

CHAPTER XV. 
Conclusion 161 

BOOK II. 

review op edwards on the will. 

Introduction 173 

CHAPTER I. 
Edwards's Definition of Will 177 

CHAPTER II. 
Liberty as defined by Edwards 201 

CHAPTER III. 
Natural and Moral Necessity 204 

CHAPTER IV. 
Self-Determination . . . . . . . . 233 



CONTENTS. xiii 

CHAPTER V. 

No Event without a Cause 240 

CHAPTER VI. 

Of the Will's determining in Things Indifferent . 259 

CHAPTER VII. 
Relation of Indifference to Freedom in Willing . . 284 

CHAPTER VIII. 

CONTINGENCE 313 

CHAPTER IX. 
Connection of the Will with the Understanding . 323 

CHAPTER X. 
Motive 327 

CHAPTER XI. 
Cause and Ef»fect . . . . . . . . . 364 

CHAPTER XII. 
God's Foreknowledge 384 

CHAPTER XIII. 
Conclusion 401 



INTRODUCTORY ESSAY. 



THE PHILOSOPHICAL WRITINGS OF 
ROWLAND G. HAZARD. 

BY PROFESSOR GEORGE P. FISHER, D. D., LL. D. 

Mr. Gladstone, in his article on Macaulay, says of 
Lord Bacon that "in his speculations he touched 
physics with one hand and the unseen world with the 
other." I have been struck with this exjDression as 
not inapplicable to the author whose writings form the 
subject of the present paper. It is not always the 
case, to be sure, that an interest in both realms, the 
physical and the metaphysical, is accompanied by a 
corresponding aptitude for the study of both. Re- 
specting Bacon himself, it is well known that his 
practical skill in the field of natural science was not 
commensurate with his interest in the subject and with 
his lively sense of its importance to the wellbeing of 
mankind. No one will doubt, at the present epoch, 
that it is, in a signal degree, of advantage to an in- 
quirer in the department of mental philosophy to be 
possessed of an inborn taste and capacity for mathe- 
matical and physical researches, and of such knowl- 
edge as qualifies him to reason correctly on this class 
of topics. Such a diversified taste and ability charac- 



XVI INTRODUCTORY ESSAY. 

terized the author a portion o£ whose works form the 
subject of the present essay. Nor does this statement 
do justice to the versatility of his talents. His life 
was sjDent in manufacturing and mercantile pursuits, 
in reference to which he manifested an extraordinary 
judgment, as was evinced by his success. He carried 
into his reflections upon the problems of political 
economy his mingled genius for abstract reasoning and 
for practical affairs. In the financial exigencies that 
arose during the civil war in the United States, his 
published observations were shown to be sound and 
valuable, and, on more than one occasion, exerted a 
decided and salutary influence upon the proceedings 
of Secretaries of the Treasury. It deserves to be 
mentioned that Mr. Hazard arrived at his conclusions 
on some of the most important economical questions 
without having read Adam Smith, and, in later years, 
found no cause to abandon the opinions to which his 
thoughts and observations had led him. He was too 
busy a man to read many books. But, fortunately, he 
did not lack the courage to think for himself, and to 
confide in the results of his own meditations. Chan- 
ning, referring to Mr. Hazard's " Essay on Language," 
speaks of him as " a man of vigorous intellect, who 
had enjoyed few advantages of early education, and 
whose mind was almost engrossed by the details of an 
extensive business," but " who composed a book, of 
much original thought, in steamboats and on horse- 
back, while visiting distant customers." This refer- 
ence to Mr. Hazard's early education might suggest 
an error in regard to his youthful training. This was 
not wanting in thoroughness as regards mathematics 
and the most important English branches. In the 



INTRODUCTORY ESSAY. XVll 

schools which he attended, classical studies were not 
pursued ; but the intellectual discipline imparted was, 
of its kind, of a high order. Our author is not to be 
counted among- " self-taught " men in the technical 
sense in which that epithet has come to be used. He 
never went through the curriculum of a college ; but 
the fact especially worthy to be noted is that he was 
one of those men who, partly from circumstances, but 
quite as much from their native intellectual character, 
would not be aided, but would rather be embarrassed, 
by the reading of many books. That his mind was 
one of marked originality was obvious to all who were 
brought in contact with him. He took hold of the 
questions that interested him with a strong grasp, and 
subjected them to a searching analysis. A busy Khode 
Island manufacturer, his remarks on controverted 
themes of philosophy elicited praise for the ability 
which they displayed, from John Stuart Mill ; and 
this, notwithstanding that Mill's cardinal tenets were 
opposed by him. The peculiarity of Mr. Hazard's 
position accounts for the circumstance that, while his 
talents and his writings have been highly appreciated 
among us by a considerable number of persons who 
are fully competent to form a right estimate of their 
merit, they have not become very generally known. 
He was allied with no school of theological opinion. 
He wrote in behalf of no tenets which are adopted as 
the creed of a party. He engaged in no public con- 
troversy which had drawn to itself general attention. 
These facts, although they were not without influence 
for good as regards the tone of his writings, operated, 
to a certain extent, to prevent a widespread attention 
to them, at the time of their publication. Of the 



XVlll INTRODUCTORY ESSAY. 

strictly metaphysical works, the " Freedom of the Mind 
in Willing" (embracing a Review of Edwards) was 
published in 1864. In 1869, there appeared the vol- 
ume entitled " Two Letters on Causation and Freedom 
in Willing : with an Appendix on the Existence of Mat- 
ter and our Notions on Infinite Space." These letters 
were addressed to John Stuart Mill, and the first of 
them, written in 1866, had the advantage of being dis- 
cussed by Mr. Hazard with Mr. Mill in personal inter- 
views. In 1883, he put forth a summaiy view of his 
leading ideas respecting the will and cognate topics, in 
the form of two discourses, bearing the title " Man a 
Creative First Cause." They were delivered in 1882 
at the Concord School of Philosophy. 

In the explanation which I propose to present of 
Mr. Hazard's system in its main features, it will be 
convenient to set forth its relation to the doctrines of 
three writers, by whom, more than by others, he was 
stimulated to write, and some of whose most important 
doctrines he undertakes to confute. These are the fa- 
mous theologian of New England, Jonathan Edwards, 
whose book on the will was always regarded as a mas- 
terpiece of logical acumen, which it was more easy to 
protest against than to answer ; John Stuart Mill, who 
exhibited, in his Logic and elsewhere, the principles 
of the " assoeiational philosophy," with philosophical 
necessity as one of its corollaries ; and Sir William 
Hamilton, the representative of the Scottish philosophy 
as modified by the influence of Kant. Mr. Hazai-d 
wrote acutely in reply to Herbert Spencer, on the 
question of the reality of things external, the world of 
matter, and on the question whether we can conceive 
of infinite space. But the discussions of Mr. Hazard 



INTRODUCTORY ESSAY. Xix 

have for their principal subject the Will and its Free- 
dom ; and it is with reference to the three eminent 
authors whom I have first named fcliat they may be 
conveniently reviewed. 

It does not detract from the originality of Edwards 
that arguments which he brought forward in support 
of the doctrine of philosophical necessity had been em- 
ployed by writers before him. He was charged with 
agreeing with Hobbes, but he remarks somewhere that 
he had never read Hobbes. Dugald Stewart appears 
to have thought that Edwards borrowed from Collins, 
and Sir William Hamilton had tbe same impression. 
It is not probable, however, that Edwards had ever 
seen a copy of Collins's work on Liberty. The coin- 
cidence of the reasoning of the New England meta- 
physician with that of the two authors just named can 
be easily accounted for, since all acute logicians who 
defend the necessitarian thesis must resort to substan- 
tially the same considerations in maintaining it. It 
was Locke who communicated the strongest stimulus 
to the mind of Edwards. From Locke's chapter on 
"Power " he derived fruitful suggestions. Locke him- 
self modified his views, in the second edition of his 
treatise ; and in his correspondence with Limborch he 
confessed that while he believed in human freedom, 
how it could exist was to him an insoluble problem. 
The principal argument of Edwards, like that of 
necessitarians before him, was built on the principle 
of causation, and consisted in the unflinching applica- 
tion of this law to the phenomena of the will. That 
every event, every change, must have a cause, is the 
postulate. The choice of one thing rather than an- 
other is an event. It will not do to say that the choice 



XX INTRODUCTORY ESSAY. 

of a instead of 6 — when both are eligible — is owing 
to the power of the will to choose — to the power of 
choice. The thing to be accounted for is the specifi- 
cation of the choice — the election of a and the rejec- 
tion of h. There must be a cause for this direction 
of the choice ; otherwise, there is a causeless event ; 
and if there can be one causeless event, there can be a 
million ; the universe may be without a cause. Ed- 
wards presses upon those who deny his position the 
alternative of atheism. Assuming that every volition 
is made to be what it is by some causal agency, Ed- 
wards finds this to be the motives in the mind which 
precede the act of choice. The antecedent state of 
feeling, in particular the mind's view of " the greatest 
apparent good " in prospect, is the " strongest motive " : 
it has an effectual " previous tendency " to determine 
the will. This motive is held to be a proper cause. 
The difference between causation in the will's action, 
and causation in the external world of matter, is said 
to consist chiefly, not in the mode of connection be- 
tween antecedents and consequents, but in the nature 
of the things connected. In the case of the will, it is 
states of mind ; in the world without, it is things ma- 
terial. Liberty, according to Edwards — and in this 
he follows Locke — is the power of doing as one 
chooses, or of carrying out, without any successful 
hindrance, the will's act. There is no necessity, strictly 
speaking, in choice, since there is no counter-choice, 
which would be in the nature of things impossible. 
No matter how the choice or voluntary inclination 
comes to be, as long as one does not will against his 
will — an absurd supposition — one has all the free- 
dom that can be imagined to exist. We are respon- 



INTRODUCTORY ESSAY. XXI 

sible for our choices, since morality belongs to them, or 
their own nature, and not to their causes. They are 
right or wrong, be the genesis of them what it may. 
This, in brief, is the course of Edwards's reasoning. 

John Stuart Mill was a champion of views akin to 
the philosophical tenets of Hume. Power is elimi- 
nated from the idea of cause. The relation of cause 
and effect is declared to be nothing but a relation of 
invariable succession. The same antecedents are 
known by experience to be followed by the same con- 
sequents. We give the name of cause to the ante- 
cedents, collectively taken, of any phenomenon. To 
none of these is anything like efficiency to be attri- 
buted. This is all that is signified by causation in 
the material world. Nothing more is true in the 
sphere of mental action. As concerns the will, what 
we call " choice " or " volition " takes place according 
to a fixed law. Subtract from the " strongest motive " 
of Edwards the element of power, and retain the in- 
variableness of connection, and we have left the sub- 
stance of Mill's doctrine. There is no " necessity," 
properly so called. Mill teaches ; for there is no such 
thing as coercion, constraint, agency, power, in the 
universe. They have no reality either within the mind 
or without it. The relation of cause and effect is sim- 
ply a relation of before and after — nothing less and 
nothing more. As the antecedents in the form of per- 
ception, desire, involuntary dispositions, and emotions, 
vary, the resulting — that is to say, the subsequent — 
volitions will alter. 

In the philosophy of Sir William Hamilton, " cause " 
is a term which denotes simply the incapacity of the 
finite, human mind to conceive of a new beginning, — 



Xxii INTRODUCTORY ESSAY. 

of any reality which had not, in some form, a previous 
existence. " Cause " is thus made to be a notion re- 
sulting from a certain mental inability. On the ques- 
tion of liberty and necessity, Hamilton pronounces 
both to be eqvially inconceivable. Freedom of will, 
since it implies the possibility of a new beginning, 
a something not evolved necessarily from a previous 
reality, is inconceivable. On the other hand, necessity 
is equally inconceivable ; for the alternative of freedom 
is an infinite series of antecedents, each contained 
potentially in its predecessor ; and we cannot think an 
infinite series. But there must be either liberty or 
necessity, and we must, therefore, believe in one or the 
other. We believe in freedom, because the testimony 
of conscience is on that side. We accept as true a 
proposition the possibility of which we cannot under- 
stand. Our sense of personal responsibility, with the 
feelings of self-approbation, remorse, etc., bears witness 
to the fact of our personal freedom, unintelligible as 
that fact is to the conceptive faculty. 

In meeting the reasoning of the necessitarians, Mr. 
Hazard saw distinctly where the battle-ground really 
lies. He saw that the contest hinges upon the views 
taken of causation and of what is meant by power. 
Shall we take our ideas relative to causation from the 
material world, and from the popular notions of power 
as there exerted ? If so, the necessitarians will have 
their own way. Or shall we look within, and find in 
our mental experience causal agency in the only shape 
in which it is directly known to us ? This last course 
is the only one which can yield trustworthy results. 
Mr. Hazard brings forward convincing proof that our 
notion of causation arises from our conscious, volun- 



INTRODUCTORY ESSAY. Xxiii 

tary efforts, producing muscular exertion. Mill made 
use of the argument o£ Hamilton, that this cannot be 
the case, since between the volition and the motion of 
the arm there interpose links of cause and effect of 
which the mind, in the act of will, can have no cogni- 
zance. In reply, Mr. Hazard denies that such a cog- 
nizance of the intervening process is requisite, inas- 
much as the knowledge that the given effect will be 
produced as a consequence of volition is instinctive, 
and without this innate knowledge the putting forth of 
such a volition would be inconceivable. Mr. Hazard's 
discussion of this point is one of the most cogent and 
conclusive portions of his metaphysical writings. As 
to the nature of the material world, Mr. Hazard was 
disposed to favor the Berkeleian hypothesis, and to 
hold that sense-perceptions are purely mental, being 
impressed upon us by a supreme Will, acting accord- 
ing to a uniform method. But, granting the objective 
reality of matter, we must find all its causal agency in 
its motion. Its motion has been eternal, or it has been 
communicated to it from without. Whether, if once 
set in motion, matter would continue to move of itself, 
is an unsolved question. If it were endowed with a 
power to move, being unintelligent, it could have no 
tendency to move in one direction rather than another. 
If it is assumed to have been always in motion, still it 
is inconceivable that matter should be the cause of in- 
telligence. How can that which does not know create 
the power to know ? The result of Mr. Hazard's rea- 
soning on this subject is the conclusion that all power 
proceeds originally from a supreme intelligence. 
Mind, as we know from our own consciousness, is pos- 
sessed of original, causal agency. Its sensations and 



XXIV INTRODUCTORY ESSAY. 

emotions are not subject to will. Neither is its knowl- 
edge ; although by will we can produce the conditions 
favorable to the acquisition of knowledge. The mind 
has but one real faculty, or power, to do anything, and 
this faculty is the will. Through this faculty the mind 
puts forth effort. The object of every act of will is to 
produce some effect in the future. Its immediate ob- 
ject is to influence mental activity, or to move the body. 
Respecting the nature of the will, the gist of Mr. 
Hazard's doctrine is in the proposition that the mind 
has the jjower to begin action, certain conditions being 
present. The fortress in which necessitarians place 
themselves is the alleged impossibility that a begin- 
ning of action, or a power to begin action, shovJd ex- 
ist. Nothing can move, unless, and so far as, it is 
itself moved. This is the position of Edwards ; the 
opposite is one of the " inconceivables " of Hamilton. 
Were it tenable, Mr. Hazard contends, there could be 
no real cause ; there would be the transmission, or 
flowing down, of power — of power having no source. 
Power, if real, is in its nature aboriginal. To be sure, 
power is given to the creature by the Supreme Cause ; 
but when it is given, the creature is himself consti- 
tuted a creative cause, supreme within his own limits. 
The " conditions " of the exercise of the creative hu- 
man will are want and knowledge. Something is 
wanted ; there is a perception of the methods of ob- 
taining it. But knowledge and want, neither of them, 
nor both together, exercise power. They have no 
efficiency. They do not govern the mind in willing. 
The mind, through a capacity belonging to it, puts 
forth effort to satisfy a want. To say, as Edwards 
does, that it is determined, moved, caused to begin 



INTRODUCTORY ESSAY. XXV 

this effort, is to contradict consciousness. To say that 
such an effort is an effect without a cause, is to ignore 
the fact that the mind is itself a cause, in the full sense 
which belongs to the term. It is not a case of some- 
thing beginning to be where there was nothing before 
it to give it being. The mind was there with its self- 
active power of putting forth effort. 

In reply to the assertion of the uniformity of the 
action of the will under like antecedents, which is made 
by such writers as Edwards on the one hand, and by 
such writers as Mill on the other, Mr. Hazard ingen- 
iously argues that such uniformity is not less consistent 
with liberty than with necessity. The mind va2ij freely 
direct its action, and yet always direct it in the same 
way. For example, if I go from my dwelling to the 
post-office every day in the year, and each time take a 
direct and easy way, instead of a circuitous and diffi- 
cult one, this circumstance affords no proof that I do 
not elect the path with perfect freedom. Mr. Hazard 
does not consider himself obliged to deny the truth of 
the proposition that the same mind in the same cir- 
cumstances would certainly act voluntarily in the same 
way. Yet he holds that where there is a reason for 
selecting one of several objects, but no reason for se- 
lecting one of them rather than another, the mind still 
can put forth its voluntary effort and take one arbi- 
trarily, or frame to itself a perfectly arbitrary rule for 
the regulation of its action. 

In reply to the statement that the mind cannot act 
without motives, Mr. Hazard says : "I do not assert 
that the mind's effort springs into existence contin- 
gently, but admit that it always perceives some in- 
ducement to make the effort, and have no objection to 



XXVI INTRODUCTORY ESSAY 

calling this inducement a motive." ^ But whatever 
these inducements be, the mind still controls its action. 
" The mind's state of desire is only one of the ele- 
ments, in a combination of things and circumstances, 
in the perception of which and of their relations, the 
mind finds a reason for acting and for the manner of 
acting ; but no one of these elements, nor any combi- 
nation of them, can devise the plan of action to reach 
the desired result, or can act it out when devised." ^ 
The actor is not the " inducement ; " it is the mind, 
planning and putting forth effort of itself. 

Mr. Hazard, by his own reflections, arrived at a view 
of the constitution of man as a voluntary agent, which 
does not differ essentially, in its general outlines, from 
the doctrine of the famous metaphysician, Dr. Samuel 
Clarke. This doctrine Clarke sets forth in his Re- 
Tnai'ks on Collins's book. He there asserts that there 
exists a principle of self-motion in man, a power of 
initiating motion, or of voluntaiy self-determination. 
This power is not determined as to the mode of its 
exertion by anything but itself; that would involve 
a contradiction. It is self -moving. It is absurd, 
Clarke affirms, to attribute efficiency to the mental 
states called motives. If they had efficiency, man 
would be like a clock, or a pair of scales endowed with 
sensation or perception. He would not be an agent. 
What we call motives are bare antecedents, or occa- 
sional causes. The opposite supposition Clarke shows 
to involve an infinite regress of effects with no cause 
at all. Moreover, uniformity of action does not imply 
a necessity in the connection of the act with its ante- 
cedents. " The experience of a man's ever doing what 
^ Causation and Freedom in Willing, p. 153. 



INTRODUCTORY ESSAY. XXVU 

lie judges reasonable to do, is not at all his being 
under any necessity so to do. For eoncomitancy in 
this case is no evidence at all of physical connec- 
tion." 1 

According to Mr. Hazard, the " motives " which 
constitute the " inducement "to an act of will being 
the reason, but not the cause of the act, the mind is 
perfectly free in willing — free, because by its own 
power exclusively it initiates the act. The conditions 
precedent are want and knowledge. " Dispositions," 
"inclinations," desires, etc., so far as they are con- 
nected with a voluntary act, are resolvable into " want." 
I want to obtain an object, I discern how to obtain it, 
and I put forth the effort requisite to the end in view. 
It is said, however, that the act being thus connected 
with a preceding want, is really tlie result of my char- 
acter, and, on this account, freedom is sometimes 
denied. This brings us to another point in Mr. Haz- 
ard's view of the subject, and one of fundamental 
importance. In answer to the objection just stated, 
he affirms that although the character of a man is 
manifested in his efforts, is indicated and represented 
by them, his freedom is not thereby affected ; nor " is 
it material to the question of freedom how the being 
came to be as he is ; whether his own character has 
been the result of his own efforts or of other power 
or circumstances." ^ Enough that he controls his own 
action. He alone is the actor. It does not militate 
against freedom that his willing varies with and con- 
forms to his character. Nevertheless, the question is 
yet of the highest importance, how he came by his 

^ Remarks, etc., p. 25. 

2 Man a Creative First Cause, etc., p. 289. 



XXVlll INTRODUCTORY ESSAY. 

character, or what power he has over it. What con- 
trol has a man over the " want " which is the occasion 
of acts of will, and to which they do actually conform ? 
This control is indirect, but it is decisive. Man has 
full power, by voluntary action, to increase his knowl- 
edge, and to modify the perceptions out of which want 
arises. " There may have been moral wrong in the 
acquisition of any knowledge or in the omission to ac- 
quire any, which required an effort. Such acquisition 
or omission may have been counter to his conviction 
of right. There can be no moral wrong in the acquisi- 
tion of that knowledge which he unintentionally ac- 
quires by observation." Where his moral nature is 
defiled, " the polluting arose from the previous effort 
to acquire, or, negatively, from not making the effort 
to prevent acquiring," etc. If a want is natural, there 
may be a moral wrong in entertaining it, in cultivating 
it, when it is within our power to direct the attention 
to something higher. This control which the mind 
can exercise over the attention is an essential element 
of human responsibility. We are able, especially at 
intervals when sensual appetites are not craving their 
objects, to fill our thoughts with ideals of noble and 
holy action, and thereby to arm ourselves beforehand 
for the conflict with temptation. 

The attentive reader of Mr. Hazard's writings on 
the subject which we are considering, will observe — 
what it is possible to overlook — that in all cases of 
moral action the " want " which constitutes character, 
and which leads to particular acts of will conformed to 
it, involves intention. It includes a determination to 
seek the object, or to produce the effect, to which the 
subsequent acts of the will — subsequent in the order 



INTRODUCTORY ESSAY. Xxix 

of nature, if not in time — are directed. " Voluntary- 
actions," he says, " are but indices of the intentions, 
and it is in the intentions that the essence of virtue 
inheres." ^ We are free because these intentions, be 
they morally right or the opposite, are our own crea- 
tion, and they are subject to change if we adopt the 
means which it is within our power to adopt. 

There are passages in which Mr. Hazard appears to 
call in question the " power of contrary choice." But 
these passages, when they are closely examined, will 
be seen to affirm simply the incompatibility of two 
antagonistic exertions of will at the same moment. 
"Any necessity that there is that the acts or efforts of 
a virtuous jjerson must be virtuous, is only that which 
arises from the impossibility of his being both virtuous 
and vicious at the same time, or in the same act." ^ 
" The advocates of necessity often ask if a man could 
will the contrary of what he does will. I would say 
that he could if he so decided : but it would be a con- 
tradictory and absurd idea of freedom, which for its 
regulation would require that one might try to do what 
he had determined not to tiy to do." Here the terms 
" decided " and " determined " denote the intention or 
purpose which the mind forms antecedently (in the 
order of nature) to the voluntary efforts to carry it 
out. That these efforts cannot but conform to the 
decision which gives rise to them, is what Mr. Hazard 
means when he denies a power of contrary choice. 
The absence of such a power, in this understanding of 
it, is what proves freedom. That he holds that the 
mind could have chosen otherwise than it actually 

^ Freedom of the Mind in Willing, etc., p. 155. 
■^ Causation and Freedom in Willing, etc., p. 141. 



XXX INTRODUCTORY ESSAY. 

chose, is rendered evident in many of our author's 
statements. Thus, in speaking of the gratification of 
a want that ought not to be gratified, he says : " God 
never permits such action without a monition through 
the moral sense, warning us to refrain from the mu- 
tilation or degradation of our being, and suggesting 
search of that knowledge which, by a faith in the wis- 
dom and goodness of the Supreme Intelligence, intui- 
tive or early acquired, we know will reconcile gratifica- 
tion and duty." ^ Speaking of a wrongdoer, the author 
says : " He must have been able to will rightly, for the 
knowledge, which is the only limit to this ability, em- 
braced all that was essential to action morally right." 
Much stress is laid upon " the preliminary examina- 
tions which We make for the purpose of determining 
our actions." The object of them often is " to test 
the expediency " of a change in the existing " incli- 
nations." Moreover, Mr. Hazai'd emphasizes the fact 
that " there may be conflicting inclinations, desires, 
and aversions, among which we must, by the prelimi- 
nary examination, make our choice." It is not " till 
the disposition, inclination, and desires have thus cul- 
minated in a preference or choice to try to do, that 
they have any immediate relation to the particular 
action," ^ etc. The fact that in determining to aim at 
any object, in deciding which of two or more conflict- 
ing impulses shall be complied with, the mind controls 
its own action, is equivalent to the assertion that it 
could have formed a purpose the opposite of that 
which it actually forms, and in pursuance of which its 
particular efforts, or acts of will, are put forth. Mr. 

^ Freedom of the Mind in Willing, p. 306. 
2 Causation and Freedom in Willing, p. 146. 



INTRODUCTORY ESSAY. XXKl 

Hazard gives the name of " choice " to the knowledge 
of this vokmtary inclination, or want ; and this pecu- 
liar use of terms has led some to conclude that the 
voluntary element is excluded from it. But while 
there are " wants " which are instinctive, and of course 
involuntary, that " want " which constitutes, at any 
time, the character of a man, owes its distinctive char- 
acteristic to his voluntary action. It is another name 
for habitual intention. 

The fundamental point of Mr. Hazard's criticism of 
Edwards is fully established. It must be allowed that 
his confutation of that conception of the Will which 
underlies the reasoning of the great theologian is 
sound and conclusive. When Edwards wrote, the 
idea of voluntary action which he propounded could 
be entertained without the practical dangers now seen 
to flow unavoidably from such a theory. At present 
that theory is likely to lead its advocates by a short road 
into Pantheism. If we would adhere firmly to a faith 
in the personality of man — without which the person- 
ality of God must be given up — we cannot surrender 
our faith in the self -active nature of the human mind — 
in its power to initiate and control its voluntary action. 

The proposition that man is a creative first cause 
will appear to some bold and startling. But the corre- 
late, be it remembered, as regards human action, is 
personal responsibility: man must himself originate 
the conduct for which he is blamed and deserves pun- 
ishment. Is it said that Mr. Hazard's conception 
limits the divine omnipotence ? But this limitation, 
on the part of God, is self-imposed. He abstains, by 
his own choice, from the exertion of his power, so far 
as is requisite, in order that man shall act freely. A 



XXXU INTRODUCTORY ESSAY. 

self-limitation of this kind on the side of the Deity 
does not lower, but rather exalts our idea of Almighti- 
ness. In Mr. Hazard's doctrine, moreover, room is 
made for the phenomena of habit. In a certain sense 
and to a certain degree, by a continued exertion of 
will in a particular direction, a free agent may lay 
fetters on himself. 

In the confutation of Edwards, Mr. Hazard is 
obliged to consider his argument for necessity which 
is based on the foreknowledge of God. There is no 
room for foreknowledge, Edwards contends, except 
where there is predetermination. The government of 
the world, he tries to show, is contingent on the truth 
of the necessitarian hypothesis. To this Mr. Hazard 
answers, in the first place, that an omniscient being 
can foresee all the possibilities of human action, and 
the results in every case, so that, if not possessed of a 
prescience of volitions, he can, without deliberation or 
delay, adapt his own action to whatever occurs. If 
the created being acts or refrains from acting, and on 
•whichever side his volition may lie, the Ruler of the 
imiverse can instantly meet the results by an appro- 
priate exertion of his own power. The illustration of 
Mr. Hazard is drawn from the chess-board. A player, 
if a perfect master of the game, has in reserve a move 
to correspond to whatever move his antagonist may 
choose to make. The former is never taken by sur- 
prise ; the result, so to speak, is always in his hands. 
Now it may he that the Creator of free beings, as he 
puts a limitation on his own power in giving them 
scope for the exercise of their freedom, chooses to re- 
sign to this extent his own foreknowledge. " Whether 
a free volition ever can be infallibly foreknown may 



INTRODUCTORY ESSAY. XXXlll 

be doubted." ^ Another solution of the difficulty is in 
the theory that foreknowledge is an independent attri- 
bute of the Deity, and that his foresight is, therefore, 
not dependent on his control of free actions. Armin- 
ian theologians have generally adopted this opinion, 
which Mr. Hazard neither sanctions nor denies. He 
insists that the volitions of men are to such an extent 
the reflex of their characters, that when their charac- 
ters and habits are known, their conduct, although 
free, is capable of being anticipated. As far as the 
foreknowledge on our part of what other men will do 
is concerned, it is just as great under the conception 
that they act freely, as it would be if necessity gov- 
erned them. The idea that, because volitions are free, 
they are chaotic, utterly void of uniformity, is a mis- 
taken one. 

In order to complete our exposition of Mr. Haz- 
ard's doctrine concerning the Will, it is requisite to 
notice the very interesting explanation given by him of 
the phenomena of instinct and habit. There is here, 
he contends, no exception to his main proposition that 
all our actions are efforts, self-directed by means of 
our knowledge to the gratification of a want. The 
fact in the case of instinct is, not that the Will, the 
voluntary exertion, is absent, but that the hnowledge 
by which the will is directed is innate. On no other 
supposition could we account for the direction of the 
muscles of an animal — for example, in seeking a sup- 
ply of food from its parent, prior to any acquired 
knowledge of the source of that supply. In particular, 
self-activity prior to birth implies an implanted knowl- 
edge. On no other supposition, it is evident, could 

1 Man a Creative First Cause, etc., p. 290. 



XXXlV INTRODUCTORY ESSAY. 

muscular movements involving a plan be explicable. 
In the case of instinctive action, we do not ourselves 
devise the plan, but work according to a plan framed 
for us and innate. The solution of the problem of 
hahity when we understand the nature of instinct, 
becomes easy. Everybody knows and admits that the 
action of habit is analogous to instinctive action. 
When we have once formed a plan and are so familiar 
with its successive steps that we can apply it by rote 
without thinking of its rationale, action conformed to 
it is immediate. It takes place with the promptitude 
of an instinct. This is expressed in the proverb, 
" Habit is second nature." Thus we see that ra- 
tional, instinctive, and habitual actions belong under 
one category. They are all efforts of a conative being, 
impelled by its want, and directed by its knowledge to 
the end sought. The difference between these several 
kinds of action is in the way in which the requisite 
knowledge is acquired. In the case of instinct it is 
imparted from without in the creative act ; in the case 
of habit it is acquired by the agent and lodged in the 
memory which does its work with the quickness and 
almost with the precision of instinct ; in the case of 
the intelligent action of man, which is not habitual, it 
is gained by more or less investigation and reflection. 
It may be added that this idea of the nature of in- 
stinct, while it appears to solve a fact in nature which 
has baffled so many attempts to explain, affords a 
striking proof of an Intelligent creator. For how 
could the knowledge of the animal, on which instinc- 
tive action is based, spring into being except through 
the agency of a cause itself endued with knowledge ? 
After the foregoing statements, it is not necessary 



INTRODUCTORY ESSAY. XXXV 

to add that Mr. Hazard is deeply convinced of the 
truth of Theism. In his conception of voluntary ac- 
tion as the very source of our conception of power and 
causal agency, and in his earnest repudiation of every 
thing" which would undermine freedom, he lays a solid 
foundation for the belief in a personal God. The 
ground of all changes is found in will. The ideal 
theory of matter, although not required by his philos- 
ophy of the will, stands in close connection with it. 
Power is made to belong exclusively to sjDirit, — to 
God, the infinite Spirit, and to his rational creatures, 
whom, by a voluntary self-limitation on his part, he has 
made, within their own limited spheres, supreme crea- 
tive agents. The ablest defenders of theism at pres- 
ent, as, for example, Mr. James Martineau, rest their 
cause on ideas respecting the will and the nature of 
causation not dissimilar from those which Mr. Hazard 
presented, many years ago. At the same time, Mr. 
Hazard admits the significance and importance of 
habit. He finds room in his system for divine influ- 
ence in aid of human efforts at self-emancipation. 
The enlightenment of the mind which precedes moral 
action, and is an index of what it will be, may be in- 
creased by divine agency. Of the need and value of 
this agency in the reformation of character, Mr. Haz- 
ard, in different places, speaks in the most serious 
tone. His writings are everywhere characterized by 
a dignified earnestness, and a spirit of reverence. 
They are marked by an absolute candor. There is 
never any disposition to evade an issue, or to dispose 
of an opponent by any other means than fair and 
courteous argument. Mr. Hazard was too sincere and 
too confident of the strength of his positions to resort 



XXXVl INTRODUCTORY ESSAY. 

to controversial arts. He was a philosopher in the 
etymological sense of the term : he was a lover of 
truth. I can say sincerely that a recent re-perusal of 
his writings has impressed me more than ever not only 
with the intellectual penetration which they evince, 
but equally with the fairness with which the themes 
of which they treat are handled. It is not that sort 
of fairness which is the product of neutrality or indif- 
ference. There is no lack of a profound interest in 
the questions discussed. It is the fairness of a mind 
which is protected by a love of equity from seeking 
an undue advantage at the expense of an adversary, 
and relies with no misgivings upon the weapons of 
reason. 



BOOK I. 



FREEDOM OF MIND IN WILLI 



BOOK I. 

FREEDOM OF MIND IN WILLING, 



CHAPTER I. 

OP THE EXISTENCE OF SPIRIT. 

EvEKY argument has its postulates. We cannot 
reason from the known to the unknown, unless some- 
thing be first known. Of all that we believe, nothing is 
more certain than the existence of belief itself, consti- 
tuting knowledge : and, of this knowledge the belief 
that there is some existence which believes, stands in the 
first rank ; and, next in order, a belief in a plurality of 
existences, which, of necessity, implies that each of the 
existences, constituting this plurality, has peculiar and 
distinguishing characteristics, otherwise it would be 
identical with some other existence. It would not add to 
the number of existences ; and, if none possessed dis- 
tinguishing attributes or conditions, there could be only 
one existence. In such case, if space is a necessary exist 
ence, all other existence would become impossible. Even 
if space were homogeneously filled, that which fills must, 
in some way, be difi^erent from that which is filled. Time 
itself would be excluded. It may then reasonably be as- 



2 FRKEDOM OF MIND IN WILLING. 

snmed not only that the belief in the plurality of exist 
ences itself exists, but that it is well founded. In this plu- 
rality there is nothing of which we have more convincing 
proof than of the existence of sensation, emotion, want, 
and of effort to supply want, of all which we are conscious. 

Perhaps we cannot logically deduce from this any 
separate existence, which knows, feels and acts, but it is 
at least certain, that this knowledge, sensation and effort 
are, in some way, so far associated as to justify us in 
speaking of them as one combination ; and, in doing 
this, each individual combination of them is denominated 
a spirit, an intelligence, mind, or soul, of which the attri- 
butes of knowing, feeling and acting are distinguishing 
characteristics. As present with this mind, or soul, yet 
distinct from it, we associate the idea of a particular 
form, which, with the soul, constitutes what each ex- 
presses by the term, " I." This idea of form is not essen- 
tial to our conception of mind, or spirit, the attributes of 
which may be conceived of as entirely independent of such 
association, or as purely intelligent being, or beings. 

Among our sensations are some which each indi- 
vidual finds he can himself produce. He can, by cer- 
tain efforts, produce the various sensations known as 
muscular movements, the sound of a bell, &c. ; and 
hence knows his own power to produce effects. But he 
finds the sensation is sometimes produced without any 
effort of his own, and hence he infers a cause, or power 
without himself; and most naturally attributing the 
effect to a power similar to that which in himself pro- 
duces similar effect, — to another finite intelligence, — he 
gets the idea of the existence of other finite minds. It 
is, perhaps, hardly necessary here to remark, that 
although through the sensations of sight we may have 



OF THE EXISTENCE OF SPIRIT. 6 

an immediate perception of other forms like our own, 
still, the belief that other similar heings are associated 
with, or represented by such forms, is an inference from 
the visual sensation, in connection with other facts. 
We draw no such inference from our image in a mirror, 
or from any other object known to be lifeless, however 
nearly resembling the human form. 

But, among oiir sensations, are some, which we find 
we have no power to produce, or very insufficient 
power ; and hence we infer the existence of a power 
without ourselves, greatly exceeding our own ; so in- 
comparably surpassing it, that we term it infinite. 
Strictly speaking, the evidence as first presented to us, 
only proves the existence of a power capable of pro- 
ducing the sensations of which we are conscious ; but 
every new observation revealing greater and greater 
power, and power far beyond what we had previously 
conceived, lays the foundation for a belief that the 
power is unlimited, and that any apparent limitation to 
it is in our own finite powers of observation and con- 
ception. Or, to put it in another form, the constant 
efiect of the enlargement of our own observations and 
conceptions having always been to make the limit of 
this external power appear more remote, there is no 
reason to suppose that a further enlargement of tliem, 
to any finite extent, would bring us nearer to that limit ; 
and hence, so far as our experience goes, we may, if not 
with strict logical accuracy, yet without danger of its 
leading us into philosophical error, apply the term 
infinite to the Supreme Intelligence. A power, which 
can accomplish everything conceivable to us as within 
the province of power, is, to us, the same as if it were 
infinite. It has, for us, no conceivable limit. 



4- FREEDOM OF MIND IN WILLING. 

The inference, by which the finite intelligence argues 
the existence of other similar intelligences, is not one 
of absolute necessity ; for all the phenomena, — ^the sensa- 
tions, — which he ascribes to their agency, may be pro- 
duced in him by the Infinite, — the greater including 
the less. But the exhibition of weaknesses and imper- 
fections like his own, and which are incompatible with 
the Infinite ; and the repeated coincidence, or frequent 
association of these phenomena with the presence of 
forms similar to, yet differing more or less from that 
which he associates with his own being, and in which 
changes resembling his own external actions take place, 
give preponderance to the hypothesis of the existence 
of other and numerous finite intelligences, distinct from 
his own. In the absence of any reason to the contrary, 
it is rational to suppose things really to be as they aj^ear 
to be. 

So far, then, we may be said to have arrived at the 
knowledge of the existence of our own finite intelli- 
gence ; of other similar finite intelligences ; and of the 
Supreme, or Infinite Intelligence. We have come to 
know ourselves, our fellow beings, and G-od, as powers 
producing certain efl'ects, as being Cause. 



CHAPTEE II. 

OF THE EXISTENCE OF MATTER. 

"We know notliiEg of matter except by the sensations, 
wMch we impute to its agency, mediately, or imme- 
diately ; and as those sensations can exist in the mind 
without the intervention of the external, material forms, 
or forces, to which we impute them, the sensations are 
not conclusive evidence of any such external existence. 
In dreams, and especially in nightmare, we have as 
vivid sensations of what we afterward find had no cor- 
responding external materiality, as we ever have under 
any circumstances. If this arises from the excited action 
of our own memory and imagination, it merely proves 
that the mind, under certain conditions, has a power of 
reproducing what has befoi'e been impressed upon it 
by some external power, and at the same time of vary- 
ing the combinations in which they before existed. 
This does not conflict with the position that, as the 
sensations may exist without the intervention of matter, 
the sensations are not evidence that matter exists. 

All the sensations which we attribute to matter, are 
as fully accounted for by the hypothesis that they are 
the thought, the imagery of God directly imparted, or 
made palpable to our finite minds, as by the hypothesis 
of a distinct external substance, in which He has 



TREEDOM OF MIND IN WILLING. 

moulded this thought and imagery. If God, with 
design, created or fashioned matter in the forms pre- 
sented to us, then these forms are but the result of 
thoughts and conceptions existing, or which existed in 
His mind ; and the only question is, does He impart 
or impress them directly and injmediately upon our 
finite minds ; or indirectly and mediately, by first 
writing, picturing, moulding, or carving them out in 
a distinct substance called matter? In either case it 
is to us eqviaWj real / the sensations, by which alone 
we know these, to us, external phenomena, being the 
same. The hypothesis that the material forms are but 
the imagery of the mind of God made palpable to us, 
is the more simple of the two, and makes creative at- 
tributes more nearly accord witli powers which we are 
ourselves conscious of exercising. 

We cannot infer the existence of matter as an en- 
tity distinct from spirit, from any necessity of spirit 
for something to act upon ; our conceptions of it serv- 
ing for this purpose, as well as any such distinct exist- 
ence could do ; and, indeed, being all tliat we can 
employ the faculties and attributes of spirit upon. 
The whole science of Geometry, which, beiug the 
science of quantity, or extension, — one of the attributes 
of matter, — may be deemed as emphatically a materia] 
science, is entirely founded on such conceptions ; and, 
in fact, on such conceptions as we get no accurate sen- 
sations of from without ; for, not to insist that no one 
ever had a sensation of such abstractions as a mathe- 
matical point, or line, we may assert that no one ever 
had a sensation from matter of a perfect mathematical 
form, for instance, of a perfect circle. It is a concep- 
tion of the mind, and for the purposes of mathematical 



OF THE EXISTENCE OF 3IATTER. 7 

reasoning, is a creation of the mind, brought into exist- 
ence by actualizing this conception in a definition ; and 
for these purposes, whatever conforms to that definition 
is a circle, and what does not so conform is not a circle. 
The reasoning is wholly based on the de/fmition of our 
conceptions of form, and not on any actual existence, or 
sensation of such forms in matter, which are never 
sufficiently accurate to rest such reasoning upon ; and 
hence, mathematics is really a hypothetical science, and 
would be equally true if there were no material forms 
even bearing any resemblance to the conceptions of the 
mind brought out in its definitions. The science of 
mechanics, too, is founded on our conceptions of resist- 
ance and forces, as solidity, inertia, momentum ; and 
does not involve the question as to what these forces 
really are.* 

To adopt the hypothesis, that our sensations of what 
is external are but the conceptions of God, made directly 
palpable to us, and ignore matter entirely, would free 
the subject of the freedom, of intelligence from some 
apparent, if not real diflflculties ; and would, at the 
same time, avoid much confusion, which I apprehend 
has been occasioned by the close and various associa- 
tions of matter with spirit. We should then have only 
to consider the action of intelligence in its finite and 
infinite forms. But as either hypothesis accounts for 
all the phenomena, the fact that one is more simple and 
that it makes the process of material creation more com- 
prehensible to us is not, perhaps, even with our expe- 
rience in dreams, a sufiicient reason for presuming that 
mattei does not exist as an entity distinct from mind 

* See Appendix, Note I. at the end of the volume. 



8 FKEEDOM OF MIND IN WILLING. 

aud with the properties which our sensations indicate. 
We may remai'k, however, that, supposing the In- 
finite Intelligence to fashion and control this matter, 
it would make no difference as to the question of our 
freedom ; for, in that case, the real phenomena would 
be the same, — the thought and imagery of the mind of 
God — and the only question would be as to which of 
the two modes He has adopted in communicating that 
thought and in making that imagery palpable to us. 
We may further remark that, with the testimony of our 
senses on the one hand, and on the other, the considera- 
tion that the imagery of the mind of God is not in it- 
self intelligent, but an effect of intelligence in action, 
we may assume, in either case, that matter is in itself 
unintelligent and inert. Admitting, then, for the pur- 
poses of the argument, the existence of matter as dis- 
tinct from spirit, we will, in a subsequent chapter, in- 
quire how far it can produce effects, or be cause. 



CHAPTEK III, 



OF MIND. 



Mind lias feeling, knowledge, volition. It is suscep- 
tible of sensation and emotion ; has a simple perceptive 
attribute by which it directly acquires knowledge ; and 
a faculty of will, through which it manifests its power 
to produce, or to try to produce change. 

Our sensations and emotions are not dependent upon 
the will. We hear the sound of a cannon, whether we 
will to hear it or not ; and can neither avoid, nor pro- 
duce the emotions of joy or sorrow by merely willing 
it. We may, by eftort, bring about the conditions pre- 
cedent to a particular sensation or emotion ; but, the 
conditions being the same, whether they exist by our 
own act, or from some other cause, makes no difference 
as to the effect.* Our knowledge is also independent 
of the will. We cannot know, or believe anything by 
simply willing to know, or believe it. If I have a sen- 
sation of seeing a tree, I cannot by any act of will be- 
lieve that I have no such sensation, or that I have the 
sensation of seeing a rock instead. So, too, if in the 
relations of my ideas, I perceive certain truths, as that 
2 + 2 =: 4, I cannot at will disbelieve or not know such 

* See Appendix, Note II. 
1* 



10 FREEDOM OF MIND IN WILLING. 

truths. By will I can bring about the conditions favor 
able to the increase of knowledge, but I cannot thus 
determine what shall become known. I maj, by effort, 
remove an external obstruction to sight and thus be en- 
abled to see what was behind it ; but I cannot, by will, 
determine what it is that I shall then see. So also I 
may by effort arrange and compare my ideas, so that 
some truth, which before was hidden, will become ob- 
vious ; but I cannot will what that truth, when discov- 
ered, will be. In both of these, uud in all other cases, 
the discovery of the objects, or of the abstract truths, 
and the consequent addition to our knowledge, is, in the 
last analysis, a simple mental perception y and all our 
efforts to acquire knowledge are only to make such 
external changes in matter, or so to arrange our ideas, 
as to bring the truth within reach of the simple percep- 
tive attribute of the mind. 

From the foregoing it appears that feeling, whether 
in sensation or emotion, is rather a property, or suscep- 
tibility, than a faculty of being. So also the ability to 
acquire knowledge is a capacity, or a sense, rather than 
a faculty. 

Our sensations, emotions, and knowledge, at the 
time being, are actual present existences, in common with 
all others now actually existing, — independent of the 
will. Having become existent, whether by the agency 
of will, or otherwise, such existence cannot, by will, be 
changed, in the present, any more than what existed in 
the past can be so changed. Whenever we seek to pro- 
duce any change, it must be with reference to the future, 
and this is always by will. Whenever by the exercise 
of our own power we try to influence the course of 
events, we will. When by effort we recall the knowl- 



OF MIND. 11 

edge of tlie past, the reGolling is still an e\&\\ifut/ure to 
the eifort. 

There are other attributes, or modes of mind, which 
are often spoken of as if they were distinct faculties, or 
active agents, having j^ower of themselves to do certain 
things. In this category we may embrace memory, 
judgment, reasoning, imagination, conception, and per- 
haps, also association. These are all names of some 
form of knowledge, or of some mode of mental action 
to acquire, or reproduce it. The forms of knowledge, 
to which they are applied, are actual present existences, 
not subject to the will. Our memories of the past, our 
observation of the present, and our anticipations of the 
future are all, when reached, but present knowledge. 
When, from any cause, the knowledge of the past, the 
present, or the future is perceived by the mind, it is a 
simple mental perception, When we make effort to 
produce such changes, internal or external, as will 
bring any knowledges within the mind's view, it is an 
act of will, a trying to do something. So that, in all 
cases, the names of these supposed faculties only indi- 
cate actual existing knowledge, or its acquisition by 
simple mental perception, or by acts of will to produce 
those changes which will bring knowledge within reach 
of this simple mental j)erception. These acts of will 
differ from each other either in their mode, or in their 
object. Memorj", for instance, is but a condition, and 
a necessary condition, of knowledge of the past. With- 
out it such knowledge could not exist. In this sense it 
is only an expression of one form of our knowledge. 
To say, I remeniber an event, is to say, I know an event 
in the past. If, from any cause, an event of the past 
comes before the mind it is then a simple mental per- 



12 FREEDOM OF MIND IN WILLING 

ception. When we make effort to bring an event of the 
past into the mind's view we call it an exercise, or effort 
of memory, and this, of course, is an act of will, a trying 
to do this thing. 

So likewise the term judgment may express the 
mind's conclusion as to the equality, or inequality of 
one thing, or method as compared with another ; or as 
to the truth, or error of a proposition. And such con- 
clusion is a simple mental perception ; while any effort 
in comparing, examining, &c., by which we seek to 
bring about the conditions favoring such perception, is 
called an exercise, or effort of judgment, which, is an- 
other act of will. 

The same may be said of reasoning, imagining, con- 
ceiving, &c. In the sense in which these are spoken of 
as faculties, or powers, they are but names of varied 
modes of effort, or of efforts for different ohjects^ made 
by the same uiiit-mind, manifesting its power to pro- 
duce change by its efforts, or acts of will. 

Whether these supposed faculties are but names of 
varied acts of will, or otherwise, does not really affect 
the question of the mind^s freedom in action ; for, 
whether it act by a faculty called will, or by a faculty 
called judgment, would not affect its freedom in action 
so long as the faculty by which it thus acted pertained 
to its own being. If the question were, whether 
the will, considered as a distinct entity, were free, it 
might become important to inquire if there were any 
coordinate powers of mind by which it could be con- 
trolled. The introduction of these supposed faculties, 
as distinct powers, does, however, tend to complicate 
and confuse the argument as to the mind's freedom. In 
confirmation of the views already stated, it may be ob- 



OF MIND. 13 

served, that if acts of will are but efforts of the mind, 
and these faculties are exerted by the miud, it foUowa 
that they but indicate, or name different acts of will, 
or efforts of the same unit power — mind. 

In further illustration that they are bnt names of 
these varied efforts, I would remark, that the immediate 
object of every act of will is to move some poi'tion of 
the body, or to influence mental activity. In either 
case we are conscious only of the effort and the effect, 
and though we speak of bodily and mental efforts, we 
still recognize them all as efforts of the mind. In so 
speaking, we distinguish them not by the active agent, 
which is the same in all, but by the imTnediate object 
of the effort, or by the subjects of it, which, in some 
cases, are but instruments to accomplish remoter ob- 
jects. Thus, when movement of the body, or of any 
portion of it, is the object, we speak of bodily, or mus- 
cular effort, and subdivide into efforts of the hand, the 
foot, &c. ; while those efforts, of which the mind is the 
subject, we designate as mental efforts ; and, as in these 
we are not conscious of distinct members as the suhjects 
of our action, we subdivide, or classify by the objects 
sought, as efforts of memory, of judgment, of imagina- 
tion, &c.* 

By the phrase bodily effort we cannot mean to as- 
sert that the body is an active agent, itself making 
effort, but only that its movement is the object of the 
mental effort; and, in as close analogy to this as the 
case permits, the expressions, efforts of memory, of 
judgment and imagination, &c., only signify that the 
object of the effort is to remember, to judge, to imagine, 

* See Appendix, Note III. 



l-± FREEDOM OF MIND IN WILLING. 

(fee. In all, we recognize but varied efforts, or efforts 
for different objects, by the same unit-mind, without 
the intervention of any other poM'ers ; and all these 
efforts are but manifestations of the mind's action, va- 
ried m conformity with the objects, or changes it seeks 
to produce. 

It may be objected to this dispensing with these 
alleged faculties, and eonsidei-ing them merely as names 
designating different modes of effort, or efforts for dif- 
ferent objects, that they sometimes seem to act of them- 
selves. Of this, memory is the most marked example. 
Our memories seem to rise unbidden before us, and in 
an order which we do not control. JSTom-, as a present 
sensation is known by means of simple mental percep- 
tion, without effort, it may so happen that the circum- 
stances, which exist without our agency, may also bring 
the knowledge of the past within the reach of this 
same perception. This appears to be effected mainly, 
if not wholly, by means of association, which is an ar- 
rangement, or classification of our knowledge in con- 
formity to some observed relation, as that of cause and 
effect, or of antecedent and consequent ; or of some re- 
semblance, in which last may be included similarity as 
to time, or place ; and, by a slight extension, this will 
also embrace contiguity in time and space. But what- 
ever the rule, or principle of association, it seems that 
through it, an idea, or sensation in the present may 
suggest others in the past without any effort. The sen- 
sation I now have of a tree in sight recalls, or causes 
me to remember a sensation I had last week of a tree 
then in sight ; and this again suggests the fruit I saw 
upon it, &c. In this case, through external agencies- 
agencies not of the mind — the past knowledge has been 



OF MIND. 15 

brought within reach of the simple mental perception. 
As in the case of simple sensation, the mind has been 
the recipient of knowledge without any active agency 
of its own ; and hence the case afibrds no ground to 
suppose an active agency in its memory, or in any other 
of its attributes. 

These views seem to justify the conclusion that the 
mind has but one real faculty, or power to do anything, 
and this faculty is designated by the term will ^ that 
with this power it has a susceptibility to feeling, and 
also a capacity, or sense of simple mental jDerception, 
through which it becomes the recipient of knowledge ; 
and that all knowledge, whether the result of prelimi- 
nary efibrt, or otherwise, in the last. analysis is a simple 
perception of the mind, and that all preliminary effort 
for its acquisition is only to bring about the conditions 
essential to such perception. We know that we have 
certain sensations without eff'ort. We attribute some 
of these to the instrumentality of the bodily senses ; 
but the sensation is in the mind ; and it is not the 
bodily sense that Jcnows of its existence. Nor does it 
require any act of will to know it ; on the contrary, we 
cannot, by will, avoid know^ing it. Here then is a 
faculty, or capacity of knowing ; of simple mental per- 
ception, or assimilation, as independent of the will as 
sensation itself. 

To proceed one step further; it is not the l)odily 
sense which knows the difftrenoe between the sensations 
of black and white ; or of sound and color ; and we 
still are not conscious that to know this requires any 
effb]'t. If we regard general and abstract ideas, in- 
stead of sensations, we may perhaps without previous 
effort know that what is, is ; that the whole is greater 



16 FREEDOM OF MIND IN WILLING. 

than its part ; that two parallel lines cannot cross each 
other ; but we do not thus know that all the angles of 
every plane triangle are eqnal to two right angles ; to 
ascertain this, requires effort.* There must then some- 
where be a point at which acts of will become neces- 
sary to our acquisition of knowledge ; but the mind 
cannot by such action determine, or vary the facts, or 
its own conclusions in regard to them. If it could, it 
would then have no idea of absolute truth. The last 
result ; the finality of the process — the assimilation — 
being thus independent of the will, must come by the 
attribute of knowing, i. e. by simple mental percep- 
tion ; and the object of the effort of the mind is to re- 
call and so vary and arrange either its previous knowl- 
edge, or things external to it, that the truths sought 
will come within the range and scope of its simple per- 
ceptive power ; such effort, however, is not always 
needed, sensation sometimes performing this office, or 
the truths being in themselves obvious to simple per- 
ception, without effort. For instance, if an effort to 
remember is the effort to find some idea, which by as- 
sociation will recall, or lead through other associations 
to some particular knowledge of the past, this sugges- 
tive idea may sometimes be brought to mind by exter- 
nal events through sensation, without our effort ; or it 
may arise in some train of thought, which we are pur- 
suing for another purpose, without any intention or any 
effort to recall the past knowledge. In both cases the 
knowledge of the past is brought within reach of the 
mind's simple perceptive sense without effort for that 
end ; and the memory appears to act spontaneously as 
an independent power. The facts, however, do not 

* See Appendix, Note IV. 



OF MIND. 17 

really conflict with the hypothesis that what we term 
an effort of memory is but a mode of effort of the miud, 
and that, in its efforts for recalling the past, prying into 
the future, or investigating abstract truth, it but exerts 
its own unit-power in different modes, and does not put 
other powers in action for that purpose. 

When, for the purpose of ascertaining truth, or of 
determining action, we call up and examine other 
knowledge, we deliberate ; and any conclusion, to which 
we thus come, is a judgment. This process may involve 
a secondary one of examining, or comparing various 
simple perceptions, which have resulted from various 
views of the subject, or from views of different portions 
of it. We often, and sometimes from the urgencies of 
the case, examine very hastily, while at others we do it 
very thoroughly. This leads us to speak of hasty con- 
clusions and deliberate judgments, the latter being the 
result of the more full examination of our knowledge 
relating to the subject. Though this judgment is a re- 
sult of an effort in the examination of our knowledge, 
it is immediately incorporated with and becomes a por- 
tion of it ; in this respect not differing from facts, or 
any other addition to our knowledge, acquired by mere 
observation, or simple mental perception without pre- 
vious effort. From the nature of the examination, or 
of the subject itself, these judgments vary from the 
slightest shade of probability to that of demonstrative 
certainty ; and induce various grades of belief, from 
that of mere conjecture to confirmed knowledge ; but, 
such as they are, we are often obliged to act upon them 
from want of time, or of ability to obtain better. 

Of knowledge, obviously an important element in 
all intelligent cause, I will further remark, that I deem 



18 FREEDOM OF MIND IN WILLING. 

the term, in strict propriety, applicable only to those 
ideas, or perceptions of the mind of which we enter- 
tain no doubt ; and that it is applicable to such, even 
though they are not conformable to truth ; for, if we 
cannot say that we know that of which we have no 
doubt, there is nothing to which we can apply the term, 
and it is useless. This is liable to the objection that we 
may Tcnow what is not true. Knowledge is a certain 
condition of the mind ; and there is no difi'erence in 
this condition, whether we have an undoubted belief 
that 7 X 6 = 41, or that 2x2 = 4; the knowledge that 
2x2 = 4, and th.Q fact that 2x2 = 4, are distinct ; and 
to make the latter a condition of the former is to define, 
or describe one thing, by attributing to it what belongs 
not to it, but to another distinct thing, which is unphil- 
osophical, and leads to confusion. 

When, however, I speak of the use which the mind 
makes of its knowledge in connection with its faculty 
of will, it is generally more convenient to embrace, in 
the one term, all its opinions and beliefs of every grade 
of probability, which, in the absence of certainty, it is 
often obliged to make the basis of action ; and, in such 
cases, I use the term with this latitude. 

Metaphysical certainty applies to that order of ideas 
and perceptions, or to that order of expressions, which 
we pei'ceive to be necessarily true in their own nature, 
and the denial of which involves an absurdity, or con- 
tiadictiou. 



CHAPTER lY. 



lilBEKTT, OB FKEEDOM. 



These terms are, perhaps, as well understood 
as any by which we could directly define them. 
The opposing terms are compulsion, control, con- 
straint and restraint ; and when the term necessity, 
as the antithesis of liberty, or freedom, is applied to 
the action of the mind in willing, it must imply that 
such action is compelled, controlled, constrained, or 
restrained. 

The question may arise, whether that which con- 
trols itself is free, or whether the fact of its being 
controlled, even though by itself, renders it not free. 
This question, in our present inquiry, concerns the 
action of the mind in willing ; but we may say, 
generally, that everything, in moving, or in acting ; 
in motion, or in action, must be directed and con- 
trolled in its motion, or in its action, by itself, or by 
something other than itself; and that, of these two 
conditions of every thing moving, or acting ; or 
in motion, or action, the term freedom applies to 
the former rather than to the latter ; and if the term 
freedom does not apply to that condition, it can 



20 FEEEDOM OF MIND IN WLLLmG. 

have no application to the acting, or the action of 
anything whatever. And hence, self-control is but 
another expression for the freedom of that which 
acts, or of the active agent ; and this is in conformity 
to the customary use and the popular idea of the 
term freedom. 



CHAPTER V. 



OF CAUSE. 



The word Cause is variously used. I shall use it, 
m what I deem its most popular sense, as meaning any- 
thing which produces change. In this sense, four dis- 
tinct kinds of causes are conceivable : 

First, such as are both unintelligent and inactive ; 
as a rock, which arrests the motion of a moving body, 
causing it to stop, or alter its direction. These we will 
call inept causes. 

Secondly, unintelligent, but active causes ; as a 
heavy body in motion, moving others in its course, but 
which does not intend, or know the effects it produces. 
These are motor causes. 

Thirdly, causes which produce changes by their 
activity, and which are not only conscious of the 
clianges, when produced, but can anticipate the effects 
of their activity, yet do not plan, or design the means, 
or modes of producing these effects ; as the lower forms 
of intelligent agents. These are instinctive causes. 

Fourthly, causes which produce changes by their 
activity, and not only anticipate and know the effects 
of their activity, but design and form plans to produce 
them. Of these God is the type. They are originat- 
ing^ or designing causes. 



22 FEEEDOM OF MIND IN" WILLING. 

"We might have divided the third class, making two 
others, one merely knowing the effects after they oc- 
cur ; the other only anticipating them ; bnt as we 
know of none in which the two are uncombined, there 
is no necessity for including them in our classification. 

I mention the four varieties, just named, as conceiv- 
ahle and as embraced in the popular notion of cause. 
Whether they are all real causes may be a question for 
further inquiry. 

We have then, of material causes, two kinds, inert 
and motor. The inert becomes cause only by being 
first acted upon by the active, or motor cause. Each 
motor may also be inert cause in relation to other mo- 
tor causes, as when one motor impinges against another, 
the effect, in some cases, may not be influenced by the 
motion of this other, but be the same as if it were 
inert. 

We b-ave of intelligent causes also two kinds, the 
instinctive and the designing. The former of these also 
becomes cause only by being first acted upon by the 
latter. The instinctive must first be infoi'med by the 
designing cause, before it can become cause itself. The 
designing may include, or be associated with the in- 
stinctive ; and, sometimes acting without exercising the 
faculties by which it is cajpahle of designing, manifest 
itself at such times only as instinctive cause. 

A definition, or statement is sometimes spoken of— 
I think improperly — as a cause, of which the logical 
consequence is the efl'ect ; as, for instance, the equality 
of the four sides of a square causes those opposite each 
other to be parallel. Such consequences are necessary, 
self-existent, or co-existent truths ; which are found, or 
discovered, and not caused. 



OF CAUSE. 23 

When we speak of time's changes, the expression 
is ellipticaL We do not mean that the changes are 
effected by time itself as a canse ; but by those 
causes of which the effects are gradual, and percep- 
tible only after the lapse of some considerable periods 
of time. 



CHAPTER YL 



OP THE WILL. 



It is not unusual to speak of the will as a distinct 
entity, possessing and exercising certain powers. This 
produces much confusion in the argument on the " free- 
dom of the will." It is obviously the mind that wills, 
as it is the mind that thinks ; and we might with as 
much propriety speak of a thought, which thinks, as 
of a will, that wills. In treating of mind (Chap. III.) 
I have already stated that there is a passive state, in 
which, without any active agency of its own, it may be 
the subject of sensations, and the recipient of knowl- 
edge. Also, that in another condition it seeks, or en- 
deavors to' produce change by the active exercise of its 
power. In this the mind is said to will. Of these two 
conscious states of its existence, that of activity — that 
in which it strives to produce change — is a state of will- 
ing. The mind's willing, or its act of will, then, is 
the mind's effort ; and Will is the power, or faculty of 
the mind for effort. It is not a distinct thing, or in- 
strument, which the mind uses, but is only a name for 
a power, which the mind possesses; and an act of will 
is that action, or mode in which intelligence exerts its 
power to do, or to try to do, and manifests itself as 
cause. The willing, or act of will, is the condition ot 



OF THE WILL. 25 

the mind in efi'ort, and is the only effort of which we 
are conscious. In each individual the efforts are all by 
the same active agent — by the intelligent being — by the 
mind — but are classified as bodily and mental efforts ; 
the former being subdivided into efforts of the arm, the 
lungs, &c. ; and the latter into efforts of memory, of 
judgment, of imagination, &c.* 

Mind — intelligence — has no property, or attribute 
by which it can be inert cause. It may be the passive 
subject of change by other active agencies, but can it- 
self be the cause of change only by the exercise of its 
power, i. e. by an effort. The existence of any mind 
with certain powers, may be among the circumstances 
which other intelligent agents take into consideration in 
their action, but it is only by its own effort that itself 
can do anything — that it can of itself produce any 
change, or be cause, f 

The mind has two very distinct spheres for the exer- 
cise of its activity — for its effort. In one it seeks to 
acquire knowledge ; in the other to mould the future. 
In the first it analyzes, combines and compares its ideas; 
observes the present external ; recalls the past, and, by 
this use of its present knowledge, acquires more. It 
can thus not only learn abstract truths, but is enabled, 
with more or less of certainty, to anticipate the course 
of events, and to perceive in what it would, by effort, 
try to alter that course. In both cases it seeks to affect 
the future ; but in one case the effect is confined to 
changes in its own knowledge, to ascertain, or find what 
now is, has been, or will be ; in the other, it seeks to 
affect the succession of events, to change what now is 
and influence what will be. 

* See Appendix, Note V. f See Appendix, Note VI. 



2G FREEDOM OF MIND IN WILLING. 

By means of its prophetic power, the mind reaches 
into that future in which by effort it seeks to produce 
effects. The success, or failure of the effort, however, 
cannot in any way affect the effort itself, which already 
has been. To the effects which the mind, by its ac- 
tivity, or effort, produces, it has the relation of cause, 
whether these effects were, or were not intended. 

By its influence upon the future, however proximate, 
by its active agency in creating that future, mind mani- 
fests its originating, creative power. In this, its finite 
sphere, every finite intelligence, of every grade — having 
the faculty of will — is a finite first cause, as the Su- 
preme Intelligence is Infinite First Cause, in its sphere 
of the infinite. The inquiry as to the truth of this po- 
sition is involved in tbe question, does the finite vntelli- 
gence will freely f which we are hereafter to examine. 



CHAPTER YII. 



OF WANT. 



The term want is probably better understood than 
any word, or phrase, which we could select to define, 
or explain it. Nothing is better known to us than onr 
wants. "We must, however, in the use of the term, 
carefully distinguish between the want and the thing 
wanted ; between that present feeling, or condition, 
which is a state of want, and which we already have, 
and tliat which will gratify the want, and which, as 
yet, we have not. It is to the present condition, that I 
apply the term. We feel a painful sensation, or emo- 
tion, and want such change as will give relief. We 
find that we are ignorant on a point upon which knowl- 
edge is, or may become useful, and we want to know ; 
and when, either from past experience, or intuition, we 
are conscious of the absence of a sensation, we may 
want that sensation, 

A sensation, or emotion is not, in itself, a want ; it 
may exist withont any corresponding want. We may 
be content with it as it is. I^or is the perceived ab- 
sence of a sensation, or emotion, of itself, a want ; for 
we may be content with such absence. To get rid of 
an unpleasant sensation, which we have, or to induce 
an agreeable one, which we have not, are often the 



28 FKKEDOM OF 3HIND IN WILLING. 

things wanted, but are not themselves the want. We 
have the sensation of hunger, and want food, but nei- 
ther the sensation, nor the food is itself the want. In 
this case tlie food is the thing wanted, and the sensation 
is one of the conditions which causes us to want. This 
sensation, or emotion, in this, as in other cases, is to us 
an extension of knowledge, which requires on our part 
no effort. 

That the idea of change is essential to tbe want is 
very obvious in cases in which some absent sensation 
is the thing wanted. When a present sensation is the 
subject, the want must either be to continue, to discard, 
or to modify that sensation ; and even the want to con- 
tinue requires the knowledge, or idea of possible change. 
So, too, an emotion is not in itself a want ; a joy, which 
so satisfies the mind that it neither desires, nor thinks 
of change, cannot be said to be a want. And there is 
a grief — a holy and unselfish grief — of the elevating 
and hallowing influences of which we are so conscious, 
that we would not banish, or modify it. Our admira- 
tion may be so pleasurably excited by what appears to 
us already perfect, that no change is suggested, or wanted 
in the sensation, or the object. Wonder, of itself, in- 
volves no idea of change, and no want ; and, under the 
emotion of awe, we reverently shrink from all thought, 
or anticipation of change. 

Want involves an idea of change. We must, at 
least, be able to conceive that by some change in what 
exists, the pain we feel will be discarded, or the knowl- 
edge which we seek, or the pleasure we covet be ac- 
quired ; though we may not know by what means the 
desired change is to be effected. 

The existence then, of this idea of change, seems id 



OF WANT. 29 

all cases to be an essential element of want. A man, 
entirely satisfied with things as they are, cannot prop- 
erly be said to have a want. It is true, we say, that 
such a man wants things to remain as they are. The 
expression is really equivalent to saying he wants noth- 
ing, i. e. does not want — he is content. If it really 
expresses any want, it is the want of such change as 
will ensure things remaining as they are, and relieve 
him of any apprehension that they may not so remain. 
Tins can amount to no more than that, to make certain 
the continuance of some things as they are, he wants 
change in some other things ; which is to say, he is not 
satisfied with things as they are. 

It may be convenient to classify wants into primary, 
or those the gratification of which is the final object, or 
end in view ; and secondary, or those which relate only 
to the intermediate means of snch gratification, and to 
what is not in itself wanted. A man, in imminent dan- 
ger, to get to a safe place, may want to walk, though 
every step is painful: to reach the place of safety is 
the primary want ; to walk, in such case, the second- 
ary. The lust of power is, perhaps, always a second- 
ary want ; being wanted not for itself, but as a means 
of gratifying other wants. These secondary wants, 
however, seem also to belong to the mind's perception 
of the means of gratifying its primary wants, and, as 
such, may with as much propriety be classified with its 
knowledge as with its wants. They are knowledge, or 
at least belief, that by some act, perhaps not in it- 
self wanted, that which is wanted may be attained. 

Again, wants may be divided into natural, acquired 
and cultivated. Natural wants aie those which are 
innate, constitutional. Hunger, or the want of food is 



30 FREEDOM OF MIND IN WILLING. 

a natural want. But we may want to be liuagry for 
the sake of the enjoyment which attends its gratifica- 
tion ; and this want to be hungry, supposing it to grow 
out of the acquired knowledge that hunger is a basis 
of the enjoyment, may be said to be an acquired want. 
If we take exercise, or adopt other means to induce the 
want of food, such want may be said to be a cultivated 
want ; and from this low, material form, our cultivated 
wants may rise to the most ethereal aspirations of our 
aesthetic, moral and religious nature. We speak of 
them merely as cultivated, for they still have their root 
in the constitution of our being ; and we only use our 
knowledge of means to bring them out, or give them 
vitality and force, when they would, otherwise, be dor- 
mant or sluggish. 

That which we have spoken of as a secondary 
want, is a consequence of our perception of what is 
necessary to gratify a primary want ; and is thus the 
offspring of the primary want, and the knowledge of 
the means of gratifying it. As our primary wants and 
knowledge may exist without our volition, the conse- 
quent secondary want also may. We cannot, by an 
act of will, directly change the perceived fact, or 
our knowledge of the means essential to a particular 
result. 

The natural, or innate want is obviously not an 
effect of volition. An acquired want must result from 
some increase of knowledge. If we made efibrt, and 
increased our knowledge for the purpose of acquiring 
this want, we must have previously wanted it, and the 
acquired want, in such case, was, before its acquisition, 
the thing wanted, and not the want which we sought to 
gratify. If we accidentally acquired such want without 



OF WANT. 31 

intending it, it has come witliont our v/ilKng it ; and 
though it may have been a consequence of our efforts 
for some other purpose, it is such a consequence as we 
did not foresee, and for which we liave made no effort. 
It may be such a result as, had we foreseen it, we would 
have opposed ; but not having foreseen it, it is an 
effect, which we have neither favored, nor opposed. As 
the influence of an actually existing want upon the will 
is not varied by the source, or cause of its existence, it 
will not, in treating of it in this connection, often be 
necessary to allude to these distinctions. 



CHAPTER YIII. 



OF MATTER AS CAUSE. 



Whatevek changes take place in matter must arise 
from its motion, either massive, or atomic. But matter 
has no power to move itself ; and lience cannot become 
cause of such change, except by first being in motion ; 
and, even if imbued with locomotive powers, would 
have no knowledge to direct its movements to produce 
any gwen effect ; and, if possessing both these attri- 
butes, being destitute of sensation and emotion, would 
have no inducement to make effort to produce any ef- 
fect, supposing it also to liave a faculty of will. It is 
plain then, that matter cannot be an originating cause, 
even of its own movements ; and hence, if changes in 
it ever had a beginning, they must have originated with 
intelligence. I say, if they ever had a beginning ; but 
we have still to inquire whether matter, even if or .e 
put in motion, could pi-oduee effects, or change other 
matter, or be affected, or changed by other matter, from 
the mere circumstance of its being itself in motion ; in 
short, whether, in motion, matter becomes cause^ origi- 
nating effects, or prolonging, or extending the effects of 
any intelligent action, which may have put it in mo- 
tion. The mere change of place by motion* cannot 

* See Appendix, Note VII. 



OF MATTER AS CAUSE. 33 

be considered as an effect of motion, bnt, rather, as tlie 
motion itself. If it is an effect of motion, cause and 
effect are here blended in one. The only reason why 
matter in motion can become cause of any other effect 
than that which took place immediately on the com- 
mencement of its motion, is, tliat by time and motion 
the circumstances become changed, though matter can- 
not intend, or know of this change. If, with motion, 
it can become cause, then, though it never could have 
commenced its own motion, yet, as in considering intel- 
ligence as cause, we are obliged to regard it, in the ab- 
stract, as a necessary existence, which had no beginning, 
so we might also suppose that matter had been in mo- 
tion from eternity, and hence always had in itself caus- 
ative power. 

Whether matter in motion, can of itself produce ef- 
fects, seems to depend inainly on another question, viz.: 
Does matter in motion, of necessity, have a tendency to 
continue in motion, or to stop the moment it is relieved 
from all impelling power ? If I throw a ball, after it 
leaves my hand I can no longer control it ; I make no 
effort to control it ; it continues to move even though 
my attention is wholly withdrawn from it. But 
whether it does so move, because to stop requires change 
which, being mere matter, it cannot effect ; or whether 
it continues to move in conformity to a law, which the 
Supreme Intelligence has adopted for its own govern- 
ment, and by which, in certain cases, it uniformly exe- 
cutes the decree, or causes certain effects to follow the 
effort of the finite mind, even after that effort has 
ceased ; in brief, whether it continues to move by its 
own inherent material force, or by the action upon it of 

2* 



34: FKEEDOM OF MIND IN WILLING. 

an invisible intelligence, or cause, is a question, which 
I can find no means of determining. 

A particle of matter can begin no change in itself. 
When put in motion does it require change in itself to 
stop, or to continue its motion ? If the former, then a 
moving body has in itself the amount of power which 
is required to stop it ; and when it comes in collision 
with another body, as the two, by a law of metaphysi- 
cal necessity, cannot occupy the same space, some effect 
must be produced ; for instance, if moving in opposite 
directions, in the same line, one must be stopped, or 
turned back, or if the forces are equal we may, perhaps, 
infer that both must of necessity stop. 

The ball thrown obliquely, after leaving my hand, 
if in vacuum, moves in a parabolic curve; or if resisted 
by the air, in an irregular curve. This, in either case, 
involves a continued cham,ge of direction, and it may be 
asked how matter, undirected by intelligence, can con- 
form its changes of direction to these curves, or indeed, 
how change its direction at all ? If, however, matter in 
motion has power to stop, retard, or change the motioa 
of other bodies ; or is liable to be stopped, retarded, or 
changed by them, it is conceivable, as has been sug- 
gested, that such change may be produced, and the pro- 
jectile kept in the particular curve by particles of mat- 
ter moving through space, and impinging on one side 
of the projectile, while the earth protects the other side 
from similar influence ; once admit the self-existent, or 
inherent force, and its application is quite conceivable. 
The line of motion is changed from the parabolic to 
the irregular curve by the body itself impinging against 
the particles of the atmosphere. 

As any force of matter in motion depends upon its 



OF MATTER AS CAUSE, 35 

supposed tendency to continue in motion ; and it being 
evident that some of the bodies, coming in direct oppo- 
sition to each other with equal force, must be stopped ; 
and that matter has no power to put itself in motion 
again, it follows that the power of that portion thus 
stopped is annihilated ; and the power of matter being 
thus continually diminishing, must, with sufficient Urae^ 
be eventually destroyed, or, at least, be reduced to an 
infinitesimal quantity.* 

But, if matter is an originating cause, or power, in- 
dependent of intelligence, it must, as we have before 
shown, be so in virtue of having been in motion from 
all eternity ; and hence, there having been sufficient 
time, its power, from the cause just mentioned, must 
have been destroyed. It follows then, that any power 
which matter may now have, in consequence of its being 
in motion — supposing it to have any — must be either 
the result of its having been put in motion within a 
finite time by intelligence, or from intelligence subse- 
quently sustaining and renewing the motion, which may 
have been from eternity.f If this supposed power of 
matter in motion were left to act uncontrolled by intel- 
ligence, its blind activity would accelerate its self-de- 
struction, and must, in some instances, counteract itself 
by opposition, while in others its effects would be in- 
creased by co-operation of the forces. The observed 
uniformity of material effects is inconsistent with this 
blind exercise of power ; indicating that, even if matter 
now has, or has had power of itself, as cause, to produce 
effects, it has been subjected to an intelligent control — 
to a designing cause — and that all such effects are now 
the result of intelligent action. 

* See Appendix, Note VIIL f See Appendix, Note IX. 



36 FKEEDOM OF MIND IN WILLING. 

The argument on this point may be thus stated : 
admitting the existence of matter as a distinct entity ; 
and that it has always existed, we know, as a fact of 
observation, tliat the motion of one portion is always 
affected and often destroyed in producing effects upon 
other portions. Now, further admitting, that its origi- 
nal state was that of motion, it must always have been 
with its present conditions, or the original conditions 
of its motion must have been changed. If it com- 
menced with the present conditions, which would con- 
tinually lessen its motion, then, with sufficient time, 
and an eternity must be sufficient, its motion would be 
destroyed, or reduced to an infinitesimal and inappre- 
ciable quantity ; and hence, on this supposition, the in- 
terference of some other — of intelligent cause — must 
have been necessary to sustain anj appreciable power 
in matter, as cause. 

And if we adopt the other hypothesis, that its mo- 
tion was originally subject to other conditions than 
those which are now observed, then this change in its 
conditions, or mode of action, could not have been 
effected by matter itself, but must be attributed to in- 
telligence, as the only other conceivable cause. So 
that, whether matter in motion was, or was not, origi- 
nally subject to its present conditions, its present in- 
fluence, by means of motion, must result either from 
intelligence sustaining its motion, or from its controll- 
ing that which is inherent. And, except on the hypo- 
thesis that the tendency of matter once put in motion 
is to continue in motion and n(jit to stop, this control 
by intelligence must be direct and immediate ; for upon 
no other hypothesis can intelligence make matter a 
means of producing or even of prolonging effects, after 



OF MATTER AS CAUSE. 61 

its own action upon it is discontinued. The matter 
would stop when that action left it, and no change 
would take place in it till further action of intelligence 
again moved it. 

JSIor, without the further hypothesis that the effects 
of matter in motion are necessary, can we either sup- 
pose that without the power of selection — without pur- 
pose — these effects would either be uniform, or yet 
vary in any respect. They must arise from the neces- 
sities of the case ; as, for instance, the impossibility of 
two impinging bodies occupying the same space ; and 
some effect must thus be absolutely necessary,- or none 
would be produced. Still, as in most, if not all con- 
ceivable cases, more than one effect seems possible, as 
when two bodies impinge, both may stop, or one turn 
back ; some power which can select, seems essential to 
the uniform ordering of the effects. This consideration 
exj)oses one difficulty in supposing that which is unin- 
telligent to be cause at all ; or to be anything more 
than an instrument used by an intelligent cause. Nor 
could intelligence make matter cause, or increase its 
causative power, and make it capable of selecting its 
own effects, or of beginning a change, or a series of 
changes, by impressing laws upon it for its govern- 
ment ; for, to be governed immediately by law, pre- 
supposes a knowledge of the law, i. e., intelligence on 
the part of the governed. 

If all matter were at this moment quiescent, it could 
not of itself, in virtue of any law, begin a change. To 
do this it must move itself. But more especially could 
it not so move itself as to produce a particular effect at 
a particular time. This would require it not only to 
have power to move itself, but to know when to move. 



38 FREKDOM OF MIND IN WILLING. 

and how to direct its movement ; all which, as matter 
is inert and unintelligent, is contradictory, and hence 
impossible even to infinite power. All that can be 
meant when we refer an event to the " nature of things," 
or to the " laws of nature " is, that the intelligence, 
which causes these events, is itself the subject of laws, 
under which it acts uniformly in its changes of matter ; 
and all those changes in matter, which begin to be, 
must be attributed to the action of spirit ; and, of 
course, such of them as are not caused by a finite, must 
be referred to the action of the Infinite Intelligence. 
And however difficult the conception may at first ap- 
pear, there seems no way to avoid the necessity of this 
constant exercise of creative energy to begin change, 
or produce uniform results ; or the conclusion that 
every particle which floats in the breeze, or undulates 
in the wave ; every atom which changes its position in 
conformity to the laws of electrical attraction and re- 
pulsion, or of chemical affinities, is moved, not by the 
energizing^ but by the energetic will of God.* 

From these views we may infer that matter cannot, 
without the aid of intelligence, be an active cause even 
of changes in itself. It can produce no activity in itself, 
and any imparted activity is diminished in producing 
effects ; nor can it, even if in virtue of a derived ac- 
tivity it becomes an active cause, select and effect such 
changes as will conform to the will and wants of intelli- 
gence ; nor yet directly impart activity to it as one 
body appears to do in regard to another ; though, as 
desirable, it may be the object, and, as admitting of 
desirable changes in itself, it may be the subject of 
intelligent action. Any observed changes of matter 
* See Appendix, Note X. 



OF MATTER AS CAUSE. 39 

vary the circumstances presented to the intelligence, 
which, in virtue of its power to judge of and to con- 
form to these circumstances, varies its action accord- 
ingly. In this way, one intelligence havhig the power 
to produce changes in matter, may, by such changes, 
influence the action of another intelligence ; but, in 
such case, matter is but a means, a mere instrument, by 
which one intelligence communicates with, or produces 
effects on another, and not a cause of those efiects.* 

It is true that we loosely speak of matter, or of cir- 
cumstances, as cause ; and to this we have been led by 
observing the uniformity with which certain phenomena 
follow certain conditions, or changes of matter. We 
generalize the facts, deduce the law, and then ascribe 
directly to that law what we should ascribe to the in- 
telligence whose uniform action makes, or is the ground 
of our inferring, the law. Science has now made us 
so familiar with these generalizations, called secondary 
causes, that we habitually accept them as the ultimate 
of our inquiries, without tracing them to a first cause, 
that can begin a sei-ies of effects. 

Even su]3posing that matter has been in motion 
from all eternity ; that the tendency is to continue in 
motion and not to stop ; and consequently that it has 
power to produce effects, and that this power continues 
undiminished througli all time ; still, as these efiects 
must be necessary efiects, and matter has no power to 
vary them, they may be of necessity, as they are in 
fact, uniform, not less so than if produced in conformity 
to the laws, which the Supreme Intelligence, on the 
other hypothesis, has adopted for his government of 
matter ; and hence, by observation, we may learn 
* See Appendix, Note XI. 



iO FREEDOM OF MIND DST WILLING. 

equally well to calculate on the certainty, or proba- 
bility of the etf(!cts ; and, as in either case they make 
but a part of the circumstances on which the finite in- 
telligence acts, whether the causes of these circum- 
stances are material or intelligent, can make no difter- 
ence to the intelligent cause, which is to act in con- 
junction with such other causes, or in view of the 
changes by them, which it can anticipate. The change 
of circumstances actually produced, or expected, will 
have the same influence on the mind in willing, or upon 
its freedom in willing, if produced by the one cause as 
if by the other. 

If all matter were quiescent, then the action of in- 
telligent cause to produce change on it would be to 
move it. If it were in motion, producing changes in 
an established order, which the acting intelligence could 
anticipate, then the action of the intelligent cause must 
be to vary this established order ; and the problem, as 
to its proper action to produce a given result, becomes 
more difficult and intricate, requiring the exercise of 
more contrivance, or of judgment to determine that 
action ; but whether that established order of external 
changes arises from the necessary eflects of matter in 
motion, or from the free efforts of some intelligent 
cause, designing such uniformity as will admit of its 
effects being anticipated, can make no diflference to the 
intelligence, which makes effort; to vary that known 
established order. 

Again, if all matter were quiescent, it could not 
begin motion in itself, and, of course, could not be 
cause. If it were in motion, it could not determine or 
select its own effects, and if certain consequences of 
necessity resulted, it would have no power to vary, or 



OF MATTKE AS CAUSE. 41 

to produce changes in those consequences, and so far 
could not be cause. That which produces effects, which 
it cannot but produce, must be constrained to produce 
them by some power which it cannot control ; and, in 
such case, the power which constrains is more properly 
the cause, and the subject which is constrained, its in- 
strument. 

It appears, then, that matter cannot possibly be 
cause, except by means of motion ; and whether it can 
then become cause depends upon the question, as to its 
tendency to continue in motion, or to stop, which is 
undetermined. But if, with motion, it has power to 
effect change, still, every application of that power to 
an effect, diminishes it ; and as to make matter an inde- 
pendent cause, and not merely an instrument used by 
some other cause, we must consider it as having been 
in motion from all eternity, this diminution by use 
must have exhausted its causative power ; and further, 
that in any event, if matter be quiescent, or if it 
be in motion, producing changes in a necessary estab- 
lished order, it cannot be a cause of changes either in 
that quiescent, or yet in the established order of 
changes ; or begin any new series of changes ; and 
that, to effect such changes, or to begin any new series 
of changes, spirit is the only competent power or cause. 



CHAPTER IX. 



OF SPIRIT AS CAUSE. 



In postulating thought and effort, we have already 
assumed the inherent activity of spirit, that is, its power 
to produce changes, or, at least, to endeavor to do so. 
If we have now shown that matter caimot, in the proper 
sense of the word, be cause, or have an inherent and 
inhering power to produce change, or that it could not 
retain such power ; and that it cannot originate or 
begin a series of effects, or, of itself, have retained any 
power to continue an established series, or yet to alter 
such established series ; we must infer that spirit, if not 
the only real, is an indispensable cause. 

The question next arises, whether this causative 
power of spirit is all concentrated in one Supreme 
Intelligence, or whether there is a sphere in which the 
finite intelligence is also an active, originating cause, 
using its attributes to create, or change, uncontrolled 
by the Infinite, or any external power. This question 
is closely connected with the main question which we 
are to consider, and, at this stage of the ai'gument, we 
can only state our position, viz. : 

That one Supreme Intelligence has power, and, if 
He chose, might exert the power to create and sustain 
all that exists in the sphere of the infinite. But that, 



OF SPIEIT AS CAUSE. 43 

within this infinite sphere, He has allotted a finite 
sphere for the action of finite intelligences ; that He 
has adapted that sphere to tlie action of such finite in- 
telligences, by furnishing it with circumstances, and by 
conforming His own actions to such uniform modes, 
that the finite intelligence, acting either through the 
power of the infinite tlms uniformly exerted, or with 
reference to His futnre action, may be able to anticipate 
the result of its own efforts, and to direct those efforts, 
or to will, accordingly. The human intelligence thus 
acts freely with the assent and co-operation of the in- 
finite ; unaided by wliich, though possessed of powers 
similar to the infinite, its action would be restricted 
within very narrow limits. 

Let us more particularly note this similarity of kind 
and variation in degree. God is omnipotent ; man 
has finite power. God is omniscient ; man has finite 
knowledge of the present and past, and can, in some 
degree, anticipate the future. G od is omnipresent ; 
man has faculties by which lie can make everything 
within his finite sphere of knowledge, past, present, and 
future, present to himself ; and, therefore, may be said 
to have a finite ^Dresence commensurate with his knowl- 
edge, i. 6., man has a finite presence, which has the 
same relation to omnipresence, that his knowledge has 
to omniscience."* God has a creative power, and this 
seems to be fully embraced in the faculties of thought, 
imagination, and conception, with, the power of fixing 
the thoughts, imaginings, and conceptions, in His own 
mind, and making them palpable to others, either im- 
mediately, by transferring this thought and imagery 
directly to finite minds, or mediately, by depicting oi 

*■ See Appendix, Note XII. 



4:4: FREEDOM OF ISOND IN WILLING. 

forming them in matter, and thus making them palpa- 
ble to other intelligent, percipient beings. If matter, 
as a separate substance, exists, and was not created by, 
but is co-eternal with intelligence, then all the creative 
power of God, as manifested in the material universe, 
may be confined to mere changes in matter ; and man 
has the same power in a finite measure. If there is no 
such separate existence as matter, then material crea- 
tion is but the imagery of the mind of God made palpa- 
ble to us ; and man here, also, has the same creative 
power in a finite measure. The creation of matter, as 
a substance distinct from spirit, seems to be entirely 
beyond the power of man. He has no faculty even to 
conceive of any possible mode of such creation. But, 
as all material phenomena can be as well accounted for, 
without supposing matter to be created, by either of the 
two modes just suggested, i. e., either by considering 
matter as co-external with spirit, or as an emanation, or 
a mere efiect of the action of intelligence, we cannot, 
from its existence or phenomena, infer that it was 
created. And if we cannot conceive of any possible 
mode of its creation, nor infer such creation from its 
existence, nor from any of the phenomena of its exist- 
ence, we can have no proof that any being possesses 
the power to create it ; and the phenomena of the 
material creation furnish no proof of any great attri- 
bute of the Infinite mind, which is not also found, in 
some degree, in the finite. 

Whether, then, we adopt the one or the other of the 
two hypotheses of creation just alluded to, the creative 
power of any being, so far as we can have any knowl- 
edge of it, is all embraced in these two powers, to both 
of which knowledge is a prerequisite, — first, that of 



OF SPIKIT AS CAUSE. 45 

thinking, imagining, or conceiving the forms, appear- 
ances, relations, and changes, which constitute creation : 
and secondly, that of impressing these forms, and ap- 
pearances, and relations, and changes upon its own and 
upon other minds. Tlie finite mind has both these 
powers in a limited degree, and, we should say, the 
latter in less proportion than the former. 

The finite intelligence can collect all within its sphere 
of knowledge, and, by analyzing and recombining, form 
for itself such a nev/ creation at will, as, on delibera- 
tion, its judgment or fancy may dictate. It forms this 
creation first in idea, in its own mind, and then decides 
whether or not to make further efi'ort to give perma- 
nency, or outward actuality, to these internal creations. 
The limit of its knowledge is the boundary of that 
finite sphere, in which the finite intelligence, with its 
co-ordinate finite presence, is creative with its finite 
power and its fallibility, as the Supreme Intelligence, 
with its omnipresence, its infinite power and its infalli- 
bility, is creative in its infinite sphere. 

Every time a finite intelligence, by an act of will, 
forms a conception of thought, things, and circumstan- 
ces, in new combinations, or in new relations ; that is, 
every time, by effort, he conceives change in the 
phenomena within his finite sphere of knowledge, it is 
to him a new creation of his own, which, by other 
efforts, other exercise of will, other creations, he may, 
at least in some cases, make palpable or depict to other 
intelligences. 

I will add that this creative power is exerted by the 
finite in the only way in which we can conceive of its 
exercise by the Infinite Intelligence, and under the same 
conditions. Either must exert the power from a desire 



46 FEEEDOM OF MIND IN WILLING. 

to produce some change, from a feeling of want. By 
means of its knowledge, or by the exercise of its know- 
ing faculties, it is enabled to form conceptions of the 
effects of its contemplated efforts before it puts them 
forth, and to vary these conceptions till it finds one 
adapted to the want ; and, in the case of the finite 
mind, one which it su]jposes is within the scope of its 
finite means and power to actualize by its finite efforts. 
This often makes a very complicated problem, in which 
all the powers of the mind find an appropriate and im- 
proving exercise. It is in the mind's preconceptions of 
the effects of its efforts, in relation to its previous wants, 
that it finds the reason for its action. 

It may be said, that the creative power in finite in- 
telligences is of a secondary character, and limited to 
producing changes, or new combinations, in the crea- 
tions of the Supreme Intelligence. In regard to mat- 
ter, if a distinct entity, tliis is merely saying that we 
mould our thoughts, or conceptions in the same mate- 
rial which God has previously used for a like purpose. 
Any of us can imagine a landscape, and vary it as we 
choose. We can even imagine a universe, and one 
varying from that which is the subject of our observa- 
tion. We can conceive of one in which all the bodies 
should be in the form of cubes, cones, double cones, 
or prisms, &c., &c., and all stationary, or moving in 
orbits, hexagonal, or epicycloid al, &c., &c. ; and this, 
for the time being, is, to him who conceives it, a new 
creation, perhaps distinguishable from that creation 
which, not resulting from his own efforts, is without 
him, only by the fact that one is subject to be changed 
or annihilated by his own effort or will, or by his ceas- 
ing to will, and the other is not. It" the material uni- 



OF SPIRIT AS CAUSE, 47 

veyisri in but the thouglit and imagery of the mind of 
God, made directly palpable, it no doubt is in the same 
manner subject to change and annihilation by an act 
of His will, or a suspending of it. So far as the indi- 
vidual is concerned, the imagery, which he, by his 
finite powers, has willed into existence, is, while he so 
wills its existence, a real creation.* But when we at- 
tempt to transfer this imagery of our own to other 
minds, we find that our power of doing so is very limit- 
ed in regard to the amount of imagery we can so trans- ■ 
fer ; the completeness or precision of the transferred 
images, and the number of other minds upon which we 
can impress them. Though we may have created the 
imagery by a direct act of will, we cannot thus transfer 
it to other minds, but only by slow, circuitous and ten- 
tative processes or eiforts ; some, however, doing it with 
much more facility than others. 

We can, by eftbrt, change matter with more or less 
of accuracy, in conformity to certain ideas in our minds ; 
and the change, under certain conditions, will be im- 
pressed on the minds of some others. The rudest and 
least gifted intellect can do something of this ; while 
superior genius is able, not only to conceive of the 
grand, the beautiful, the tranquil, or the terrific, but to 
make these creations recognizable and enduring by so 
portraying them in language, picturing them on can 
vas, or carving them in marble, that they will long be 
palpable to many other minds. But, to make the con- 
ceptions of a Raphael thus palpable, requires an almost 
countless number of efibrts, before the pre-requisite con- 
ditions, by which it is perfected and exhibited on the 

* See Appendix, Note XIIl. 



48 FREEDO:*! OF MIND IN WILLING. 

canvas, are completed — before his creation becomes a 
palpable, tangible reality to other men ; though superior 
intelligences may have perceived the oi'iginal forma- 
tion, as it existed in his mind, without the aid of the 
external means, by which it penetrates through our ob- 
tuseness. 

The Unite intelligence may create new forms and 
new combinations. It can conceive a pleasing land- 
scape, and therein create not only new combinations, 
but new thouglit and new beauty, and exhibit it to 
others. The poet, through the medium of language, 
does this. The painter, with his pencil, also. The 
florist, with his spade, does the same. All create new 
forms, new combinations, new beauty ; and, by their 
different modes, impress their creations on other 
minds. 

The efforts of the florist are most palpably made in 
reference to the aid of the Supreme Intelligence, acting 
by uniform modes, of which he has acquired a knowl- 
edge, and by which liis own designs are executed, — 
his finite efforts made eflective. But the painter is 
really hardly less dependent upon this same extrinsic 
aid, for the successful exhibition of his ideal creations, 
in a tangible form, to others. 

The poet, though still dependent on this uniformity 
for the means of making his conceptions palpable, seems 
to be less so than either of the others. There is less 
intervening between his conceptions and our percep- 
tions of them. He issues the fiat, " let there be light," 
and his creation flashes upon us. It is in the purest 
forms of poetry — those in which the words seem to 
vanish and leave the unalloyed thought and imagery 
of the poet, as if flowing directly from his mind 



OF SPIRIT AS CAUSE. 49 

to our own — tliat we can most readily realize that 
mode of creation in the Supreme Intelligence, which 
we have supposed to be a direct impression of the 
creative conceptions of the Infinite upon the finite mind. 
Whether our mental creations ai*e made palpable by 
means of some direct, but unperceived connection be- 
tween our eftbrts and their outward manifestation, or 
through the uniform modes of God's action, is not 
'material as to the question of our power to make them 
manifest. If such manifestation only follows our efforts, 
it identifies the power to froduce the effect, with oui 
power to 7nake the effort. But the finite mind, in its 
present condition, can thus impart, and give, even a 
qualified durability to a very small portion of its con- 
ceptions. Whether, in a farther stage of its progress, 
this means of imparting to othei-s will be increased, as 
its present disproportion to our powers of conception 
would seem to indicate, is a question not within the 
scope of our present inquiry ; and we content ourselves 
with the conclusion, that here and now, the finite mind 
of man, made in the image of God, has finite powers 
corresponding to omnipotence, omniscience, omnipres- 
ence, and other creative attributes of the Infinite ; and, 
so far as we can know, exerts these powers in the same 
mode and under the same conditions ; that is,, it has 
wants, it has a faculty of efibrt, or will, by which to 
endeavor to gratify those wants ; and it has knowledge, 
which enables it to form preconceptions of the future 
efi'ects of those eff'orts, and to judge as to what 
effort to make, and thus determine that effort and 
the consequent effect, as in itself a ceeative first 

CAUSE.* 

* See Appendix, Note XIY. 



50 FREEDOM OF MIND IN WILLING. 

Whether the finite mind, in the exercise of these 
powers, Is independent of, or is controlled by the In- 
finite, or by other powers, or forces, is a question in- 
volved in that of the freedom of the mind in willing, 
which we will now proceed to consider. 



CHAPTER X. 

FKEEDOM OF INTELLIGENCE. 

As the will is veiy frequently spoken of as a distinct 
entity, so, as a logical consequence, it is not uncommon 
to speak of the " freedom of tlie will." This opens the 
way for the argument, that the will is dependent upon, 
and is controlled by the mind ; and, hence, is not free, 
producing much confusion ; whereas, the real question, 
and that which involves the inq)ortant consequences of 
human responsibility, regards ordy the freedom of the 
being that wills — whose responsibility is supposed to be 
affected by the condition of freedom, or necessity. The 
inquiry should tlien be, not is the will free, but, does the 
mind, the soul, will freely ? 

In reference to this question, it is not material 
whether the effect we seek to produce when we will, 
follows our volition, or not. We may not have the 
power to do what we w^ill, and yet may freely will to 
do. There may be no such connection as we supposed 
between the volition and the intended result ; our 
knowledge may have been deficient, our deductions 
erroneous. If that result was in any degree dependent 
on other causes or forces, as the motion of matter, or 
the action of other intelligences, we may have been mis- 
taken in our anticipations of those movements or ac- 



52 frei':dom of mind in willing. 

tions ; or have made wrong inferences, as to their in- 
fluence or effects. However this may be, it is manifest 
that the subsequent result cannot control the volition, 
which already is, or has been ; the actual effect cannot 
control its cause, aftei that cause has been exerted. Of 
that mysterious connection between the effort and its 
consequences, we know nothing beyond the fact that, 
under certain conditions, the latter more or less uni- 
formly follow the former. If, in a normal and natural 
condition of my being, I will to move my hand, it 
moves. If I will to throw from it a ball, the ball 
moves and even continues to move after my mind has 
ceased to act in regard to it. I^ow, whether the move- 
ment of my hand, and of the ball, while in it, arises 
from some direct, but latent connection between my 
mind and my hand ; and whether the ball continues to 
move, after my mind has ceased to will in regard to it, 
in virtue of some power inherent in matter or some 
necessary principle of motion ; or whether, all beyond 
my willing is to be ascribed to the action of some other 
intelligence, ever present and ever active and efficient, 
are questions which I have already alluded to as unde- 
termined. The last we know of our own agency in 
producing change, is our act of will, or effort to effect 
it. We know that the change follows this willing with 
more or less of certainty ; but why it so follows we do 
not know. We may intuitively or experimentally fore- 
know what effects will probably follow certain efforts 
but, beyond the effort, we know nothing of ourselves as 
the cause of these effects. 

For every intelligent act, or every act of an intelli- 
gent being, as such, there must be an object, a reason 
for its acting, rather than its not acting. To suppose in- 



FEEEDOM OF IJSfTKLLIGENCK. 53 

telligeiice to act, and yet not know an j object or reason 
for its acting, is to suppose it to act without intelli- 
gence, and if there is no intelligence involved, or (con- 
cerned in the act, the action, if any there can be, must 
be wholly independent of the intelligence ; or, which 
is the same thing, of any exercise of intelligence by the 
hitelligent agent or being ; wliich, in the case of its 
willing, would involve the contradiction of its being 
passive in its own action. It would also make a case in 
which that which is unintelligent moves itself. 

To suppose any being to will any particular act, 
and yet know no reason or object for that act, is either 
to suppose a change, or an efiect, without any cause ; or 
that this act of will is directed by some cause, without 
the being that wills. But, as will hereafter more fully 
appear, there is no possible way in which any power, 
external to the agent that wills, can affect the dirc^'tion 
of this willing, except by causing him to know some 
reason, or object for such direction. 

Intelligence in acting, then, must have an object. 
The object of its action must be an effect which it wants 
to produce. The mind, acting intelligently, will not 
make an effort, or will to produce an effect, which it 
does not want to produce. Every volition, then, must 
arise from the feeling or ]Derception of some want, 
bodily, or mental ; otherwise there is no object of 
effort. This want may be that of food, of knowledge, 
of muscular movement, or of mental effort, in some of 
the various modes before indicated, or merely a want 
of change from the present state of things. But though 
the want suggests change, it does not indicate the mode 
of effecting it. 

A mere sensation, or perception, attended by a 



54 FREEDOM OF MIND IN WILLING. 

desire for change, but with no knowledge as to the 
mode of producing that change, points equally in all 
directions, furnishing to the mind no indications of the 
means of effecting the change. It, so far, furnishes no 
ground or reason to the mind to suppose that effort is 
the means, or that any particular effort will tend to 
the desired effect, any more than to the contrary. The 
mind must have some additional knowledge as to the 
mode. With the want, which, as before stated, is com- 
pounded of feeling and the knowledge that some change 
is desirable, must be associated the further knowledge 
of what change, and the means of effecting that change. 
The knowledge that effort is the means by which we 
must effect change generally, is innate ; as probably 
also all that knowledge which is essential to existence, 
and especially that which is thus essential in the earlier 
stages of being. If the first want is that of breath, or 
of food, the knowledge of the means of gratifying it 
probably accompanies the want. The infant breathes, 
and knows, at least, how to swallow, if it does not also 
know how to find the source of its nourishment in its 
mother's breast, and later in life want is developed, 
with which, without any agency of our own, is as- 
sociated the knowledge of the mode of its gratifi- 
cation. 

Again, as the circumstances under which the want 
may exist may be very different, thei-e must be some 
power of adaptation to them. Suppose, for instance, a 
man being hungry, knows that by walking a few steps 
to the north he can find bread to relieve his want ; but 
he becomes hungry when he is in a different position, 
requiring liiin to walk a few steps south to get the 
bread. The first step, in such cases, when the know!- 



FKEEDOM OF INTELLIGENCE. 55 

edge is not an immediate mental perception, is to ex- 
amine the circumstances. This is a preliminary efi'ort 
of the mind to obtain more knowledge with which to 
direct its final action. But this efi'ort also requires 
some previous knowledge. We must know something 
before we will to know more. As preparatory to such 
eflbrt, we must at least know that more knowledge is 
desirable, and that to examine is tlie mode of acquiring 
it. And this previous knowledge must eitber be intui- 
tive, or acquired through the senses without effort. In 
the latter case its acquisition would be merely acciden- 
tal, and the mere passive observation of events is so en- 
tirely different from an effort to examine, that tlie latter 
could never be inferred or learned from the former ; 
and if so, then the knowledge that we must examine 
the circumstances, in order to know how to adapt our 
final effort to them, is probably intuitive. If it is not, 
the infant, in seeking its mother's breast, must do it by 
knowledge imparted to it in each particular' case as it 
occurs, and adapted to the peculiar circumstances of 
that case. If we suppose it only to know the mode 
of muscular movement, and that, under any circum- 
stances, it may succeed, by moving its head, or turn- 
ing its eyes, first in one way and then in another, till 
it finds the right direction, such movements of the 
head, or of the eye, are but modes of examining 
the circumstances in regard to which there must 
have been some pre-existing knowledge, at least, 
that by snch movements there is a possibility of 
finding the object sought, i. e., must know that an 
effoi't to examine is the mode of attaining its ob- 
iect. If the mind has no knowledge in any degree, 
— no expectation — that by effort it can accomplish the 



56 FREEDOM OF MIND IN WILLING. 

object, it is, to it, the same as if it had no object of its 
effort. It may be only the knowledge, that we need 
more knowledge properly to direct the effort to gratify 
the want, or that, by effort, we may possibly effect some 
change, which change may possibly be a desirable one. 
With such certainty, probability, or hope, we make the 
efibrt, i. e., we will. 

We have here, then, in want and knowledge com- 
bined, the source in which volitions originate, and the 
means by which mind, in virtue of its intelligence, 
gives them direction. Without want, the mind would 
have no object to accomplish by effort ; without knowl- 
edge, it would have no means of directing its efforts to 
the accomplishment of that object. Without want and 
knowledge, the mind would never manifest itself in 
effort, or self-action ; and hence, if without them it 
could be cause at all, it would be only blind cause, like 
matter. Its want furnishing an object of action, and 
its knowledge, enabling it to determine ^<:7Aa^! action, are 
all that distinguish the mind from unintelligent cause, or 
force ; for even if without them it could will at all, it 
would will blindly, as matter moves, and without any 
more reference to its effects. As want is compounded 
of feeling and knowledge, these sources of volition are 
resolvable into an intelligent or knowing being, with a 
faculty of will and a susceptibility to feeling ; in other 
words, into a cause^ which itself perceives the effect it 
would produce, i. e., what it would do, or at least try 
to do ; knows the means, and is conscious of its ability 
to do, or to try to do it ; and at least believes that its 
effort may ])ossibly be successful. 

The want does not, generally, arise from our voli- 
tion. We may want, we do want, without effort to 



FKEEDOM OF INTELLIGENCE. 5Y 

want. The mind could not begin its action by willing 
a want, unless there was first a want of that want. As 
already shown, without some want to be gratified by 
its act of will, the mind would not will at all. It 
would not will for the mere purpose of exercising its 
will, unless such exercise of will were itself a previous 
want ; the want must precede the action of the will to 
gratify it, and must, in the first place, come by the act 
of God, immediately, or mediately through the constitu- 
tion of our being. As we may want without efl:brt, so 
also we may hnow that we want without effort, for we 
cannot want without knowing it. It has before been 
shown that the want itself involves the knowledge of a 
desirable change, and that some of our knowdedge, and 
especially some of that which we acquire through the 
senses, comes to us not only without effort, but could 
not be prevented by our direct effort. Any intuitive 
knowledge which we may have, must also exist in us 
without effort to obtain it. 

To these pre-requisites of effort — want and knowl- 
edge — no antecedent effort, then, is necessary. They 
may both exist without it. We cannot directly will 
either ; but may will to use means by w^hich to produce 
them in us. It is not necessarily, by an act of will, that 
we see and thus hiiow that a heavy body is aj)proaching 
us, or that we hnoro that we are in danger fVom it, or 
that we want to avoid it, or that we Ti,noiD the means of 
avoiding it, and how to adopt the known means, i. e., 
to make an effort to move. With such knowledge and 
want, tlie first effort of the mind may be to make the 
bodily movement ; but, if we suppose it not yet to 
know in which direction to move, but to know that the 
mode of learning this is to examine the circumstancefs, 
3* 



58 FEEEDOM OF MIND IN "WILLING. 

i. e., by further observation or reflection, then its first 
effort will be to examine. 

A want may itself be the object wanted ; we may 
v)ant a want, as we wmit an apple ; and the want 
that already is, may be tlie occasion of our willing in 
regard to the attainment of the want, which is the ob- 
ject desired ; as the want of the apple is the occasion 
of the effort to obtain the apple. For instance, we may 
want to be hungry, i. e., want to want food, that we 
may enjoy the pleasure which arises from gratifying 
hunger. In such case we must disti^iguish between the 
secondary want, which, like the apple, is but the object 
of our effort, and that primary want, which excited us 
to make the effort, and for the gratification of which 
the secondary is required. As the apple is not itself 
the want, but the thing wanted, so also, in the case just 
supposed, the hunger, or want of food, is not itself the 
want, but is the thing wanted. But, though we do not 
make, or cause, this primary or exciting want, it is our 
want that we feel, and not the want of another. The 
same of knowledge ; we do not make the fact, or the 
truth, or the evidence of it. The most we can do is to 
seek that which already is ; and the moment we find, 
or know it, it is our knowledge, let the source from 
wlience derived be what it may. For intuitive knowl- 
edge we do not even have to seek. 

The want is, while it lasts, a fixed existence in the 
mind, demanding effort for its gratificatioiQ or relief.* 
The knowledge becomes a portion of the mezital appa- 
ratus, by which the mind directs its efforts ; every in- 
crease of its knowledge increasing its means of accom- 
plishing its purposes and enabling it to direct its efforts 

* See Appendix, Note XV. 



FKEEDOM OF INTELLIGENCE;. 69 

with less of fallibility to the desired results. To nial^e 
knowledge most available, or useful, often requires 
thought, reflection, or deliberation in its application. 
An exciting want may be accompanied witli a con- 
sciousness that our knowledge is hisuflicieut, and, in 
such case, the secondary want of more knowledge inter- 
venes. We want to ascertain the circumstances, or the 
best mode of proceeding under them, and our effort is 
first directed to obtain this knowledge. We examine, 
we deliberate^ and thereby reach a conclusion or judg- 
ment. These judgments are but the knowledge, certain 
or otherwise, as to what is, or what we should do ; ac- 
quired by preliminary efforts for this object. We ob- 
serve, we examine, and so arrange our ideas, that the 
knowledge sought may come within the scope of simple 
mental perception. As a basis of the whole proceeding, 
however, there is always a want ; and, of course, with 
this want as one of its elements, some knowledge (at 
least the knowledge that by effort more knowledge may 
be obtained) which required no effort. The feeling, 
which is one element of the want, is constitutional ; 
and the knowledge, which is the other element, is in 
the first instance either innate, or acquired by simple 
perception, without effort. The preliminary efforts of 
the mind to obtain knowledge to use in directing its 
final effort, are but parts of a plan, embracing a series 
of efforts, to accomplish the final end it has in view. 

As preliminary to that final act of will, or series of 
acts, by which the primary exciting want is to be grati- 
fied, the mind may have to decide — 

1. Between its conflicting wants. 

2. Between various objects ; the obtaining, or efi'ect- 
ing some one of which is essential to the gratification 



60 FREEDOM OF MIND IN WILLING. 

of its want ; and tliis is always a change, or eflect to be 
produced in the future. 

3. Among various possible, or conceivable, modes of 
producing this effect in the future. 

4. Whether to make the effort to produce the effect, 
or not ; and then, if the mind so decides, it proceeds 
to make the effort in conformity to the preferred 
mode to produce the selected effect, to gratify the 
chosen want. 

The preliminaries, as above, may be settled in other 
order, and may not all of them be requisite to every 
final act of will. The fourth decision seems to be very 
closely associated with the final act of will ; and, per- 
haps, liable to be confounded with it. But a decision 
or judgment is but a particular form of knowledge, 
which is often the result of acts of will, but cannot it- 
self be such act, or effort. The final act of will comes 
after the decision to do. If the process ends with the 
decision to do, there is no room for the willing by the 
mind, to do that which it has thus decided to do ; and 
the whole matter is as completely ended by a decision 
to do, as by a decision 7iot to do. Tlie difference in the 
two cases is, that a decision to do is followed by a fur- 
ther action of the mind to execute its decision and effect 
change in the future ; and a decision not to do is a 
finality, leaving the mind in a state of quiescence, and 
not of action. If the decision is itself the act of will, we 
have nothing to mark the difference in the subsequent 
mental conditions of action in the one case, and of re- 
pose in the other. 

We may suppose a being to know that there are, 
or may be, several modes of gratifying a want, and 
yet not know that there is, or may be, a choice among 



FREEDOM OF INTELLIGENCE. 61 

them. Such a being would, no doubt, on feeling the 
want, adopt the first means it perceived of gratifying it, 
as though it knew and could know no other. If, in 
so doing, it adopted the worst mode, it would have been 
better not to have known it. We all know that this 
disadvantage sometimes occnrs to us when acting too 
hastily, without sufficient deliberation, and this expe- 
rience teaches us the necessity of deliberately examin- 
ing the facts and the probable results of action, before 
we act. In the same way, too, we learn that of several 
wants there may be a clioice as to the order in which 
they shall be gratified, or whether they shall be grati- 
fied or not. Hence, from experience, or that knowl- 
edge which comes after effort, we learn the importance 
of using, before an effort, what knowledge we then 
have ; and thus, with the want and knowledge which 
alone were sufficient to enable the mind to will, and to 
will intelligently, is associated deliberation, which is a 
preliminary effort of the mind to obtain more knowl- 
edge to enable it to will better and more intelligently 
in its final action, i. e., to produce the desired result of 
gratifying the want more certainly, more fully, or with 
less collateral, or consequential disadvantages. Delib- 
eration being thus but the application of our knowl- 
edge, in an effort to obtain more knowledge, cannot be 
considered as a new, but as the same element, used in 
a preliminary, or intermediate effort, induced by the 
want of more knowledge. In its every act of will not 
purely instinctive, or habitual, the mind applies its 
knowledge, or some of its knowledge, in devising, or 
adopting a mode of gratifying its want ; and must take 
some time to make the application at all ; * and the ex- 

* See Appendix, Note XVI. 



62 FREEDOM OF MIND IN WILLING. 

tended deliberation is only devoting more time to make 
that application more perfect, or to obtain more knowl- 
edge to apply. The deliberation is only an examination 
of our knowledge, generally resulting in a judgment, 
but is sometimes fruitless. It may be exhaustive, but 
more frequently it is not, and the quantity of time 
which shall thus be devoted, in any case, is also a mat- 
ter for the mind to judge of and to decide, at any point, 
by the knowledge which it then already has. If we 
want food, it will not be advisable to spend a month in 
considering whether it is best for us to eat beef, mutton, 
or venison ; and yet, perhaps, less time would not suf- 
fice for a thorough examination. In such cases, the 
mind judges for itself, bestowing such time as, under 
the circumstances, seems to it desirable ; the exercise of 
a proper judgment, in this respect, combining prudence 
with decision. That the mind has the power to arrest 
its impulse to gratify its want by the first means it per- 
ceives, to consider or examine whether there are not 
better means ; or whether it is proper that tlie want be 
gratified at all, by whatever means it may have at 
command ; is a very important fact, making, perhaps, 
the foundation of one essential difi'erence between in- 
stinctive and rational action. 

In turning from the want, knowledge, and the appli- 
cation of the knowledge, or deliberation, which precede, 
to that effect, which the mind seeks to accomplish by its 
effort, constituting its object, we may remark, as an ob- 
vious fact, we might say, a truism, that we do not onake 
any effort for what already is. Hence, a beginning, or 
a design to do what might not otherwise be done ; an 
endeavor, or attempt to bring to pass what before was 
not ; to originate some change, which otherwise might 



FREEDOM OF INTl'XLIGENCE, 63 

Qot occur, seeiils involved in tlie very idea of eftbrt. 
In this view, every volition is an exercise of the creative 
power of the intelligence that wills ; and when success- 
ful, results in a creation, formed, with more or less skill 
and wisdom, from tlie unarranged materials existing in 
the chaos of circumstances, which this same intelligence 
perceives, examines, compares, analyzes, and combines 
in idea, before its final volition is decided upon, — before 
it determines by what actual construction of these ma- 
terials it can best effect its purpose, — by what means it 
can best gratify, or relieve the want, which excited it to 
action. 

We have seen that the finite intelligence has all the 
powers essential to creative action, and also the knowl- 
edge required to direct these powers. Hence it may of 
itself use them with intelligent aim. To direct our first 
efforts, we have sufficient intuitive knowledge, and 
when this, with any accumulations passively acquired 
by the knowing sense through external sensation, will 
not avail, we know that the mode of obtaining more is 
by an effort to examine. 

Among the circumstances, the examination of which 
by the mind may be essential to its proper exercise of 
these powers, must be included not only the actual 
present existences around us, but our recollections of 
past observation and reflection ; our anticipations of the 
future ; our knowledge of the experience of others and 
of what others may be doing, or expected to do ; and, 
especially, of those laws, or uniform modes, by which 
the Supreme Intelligence regulates His acts of change ; 
and by, or through, or in conformity to which our own 
volitions are made effective. Among the circumstances, 
our opinion as to our ability to execute this or that de- 



64 FREEDOM OF MIND IN WILLING. 

sign, will largely influence us as to tlie effort we con- 
clude to make. Whether that opinion is, or is not cor- 
rect, is not material to its influence on the volition. 
The mind will, in this respect, be influenced in its ac- 
tion by the internal existing belief, — the present known — 
and not by the external future faot^ which is unknown, 
perhaps unanticipated, or even disbelieved. 

We never will to do, what we know we cannot do. 
To will an act, I must first linow what act to will. If 
no particular act appears to me as better adapted to pro- 
duce the desired efi*ect than another, there is no reason 
why I should adopt one act rather than another ; and, in 
such case, my knowledge would only indicate trying any 
act out of the infinite number of conceivable acts. But, 
if I know that there is no act that will produce that effect, 
there is no reason why I should will at all. I could just 
as well will without any want, as to will when I knew 
the act of will would have no influence on the want. 
Under such circumstances there can be no decision of 
the mind to act, and nothing to be executed by an act of 
will. The decision to v/ill, is a portion of the mind's 
knowledge ; and to say one cannot decide to will to do 
what he knows that he cannot do, is merely saying, that 
he cannot reconcile the contradiction, and know that he 
will do what at the same time he hnoius he cannot do. 
The effort, or trying to do, involves some expectation 
of doing. If I know the nature of the act. which, if my 
power were sufficient, would produce the efl'eet, but 
know that my power is not sufficient, I know that 
willing such act cannot avail. I, in effect, know that 
it will no more produce the effect, than any other 
act, however difi'erent its nature. Under strong im- 
pulse, men sometimes seem to make efforts which they 



FREEDOM OF INTELLIGENCE, 65 

know will be insufficient to procluco the desired effects. 
Strong emotion often finds relief by expression in 
unavailing words ; and a like relief is derived from 
expression in unavailing action. Sucli relief may be 
the end rationally designed, or, perhaps, in such case, 
action is instinctive. If a friend asks me to push aside 
a mountain of granite, I say I cannot do it ; and if, in 
compliance with his request to try, I pnsh against it, I 
still do not will to move it ; but the whole object of my 
effort, and what I will, is to push against it to please 
him, and this I pre-perceive to be possible. A man, 
who can demonstrate the impossibility of duplicating 
the cube, or of contriving a perpetual motion, may yet 
will to exercise his wits upon these problems. His 
effort, however, is not to solve the problems, but, per- 
haps, by exercise to improve himself in geometry and 
mechanics ; or to amuse himself thereby. Sometimes 
persons, in moments of frenzy or desperation, appear to 
attempt impossibilities. This appearance may arise 
from various causes. In a pressing exigency, when 
there is nothing bnt what is highly improbable, things 
highly improbable may be attemjDted. This is ex- 
pressed in the ancient adage, " A drowning man will 
catch at a straw." Or, the object sought may have 
taken such strong hold on the imagination, or may so 
exclusively absorb the attention, that the obstacle to its 
attainment, the impossibility, though ever so palpable 
to others, is overlooked by the actor. A man in battle, 
surrounded by an army of his enemies, may act as if to 
cut his way through them, rather than passively meet 
the fate he knows to be inevitable ; but, in this case, 
what he really seeks and wills is not to cut his way 
through the army, but something else ; perhaps to de- 



66 FREEDOM OF MTND IN WILLING. 

stroy as many of the enemy as possible ; or to get tliat 
relief, which effort gives by its excitement and by with- 
drawing his thoughts from his impending doom. Again, 
the hahit of resistance, or of effort in similar, though 
less hopeless cases, may have its influence on the action 
willed. (Of the influence of habit, I shall have occasion 
to say more hereafter.) So, too, it seems certain, that 
our belief as to the degree of certainty with which we 
can attain an object, is one of the circumstances gen- 
erally taken into the view of the mind in forming its 
judgment as to what it will try to do, or in what mode 
it will attempt it. The mind may not always adopt the 
easiest mode of reaching the ultimate object of its effort. 
It may be indifferent as to the amount of effort, and 
hence not seek the easiest mode ; or it may prefer to 
make more effort than is necessary, and adopt tlie mode 
which will embrace this intermediate with the ultimate 
object ; but it mnst always seek to adopt a mode by 
which what it wants will be accomplished ; and, in do- 
ing this, the mind must itself judge of the mode, or 
modes, which it knows, or which, when not immediately 
apparent, it finds by a preliminary act of search, and, 
in view of all the circumstances, including its own 
power, and the pleasure or pain of exercising that 
power, decide whether to adopt any one, and, if so, 
which one. 

These views sliow the necessity of want and knowl- 
edge as pre-requisites to any effort of the mind. It is, 
perhaps, sufticiently evident that the mind will make 
Qo efibrt to do anything which it does not want done ; 
also, that it will make no effort to do what it wants 
done, if it knows that such effort will not produce any 
desirable result ; or even when, without this negative 



FREKDOM OF INTELLIGENCE. OT 

certainty, it has no affirmative faitli, or hope of such a 
result. 

But, more fully to explain, let us suppose another 
case. A man feels a sensation, and with it has certain 
knowledge, constituting a want, say of food ; the intui- 
tive knowledge which, in the first stage of his existence, 
indicated the mode of gratifying this want, no longer 
avails him, and his acquired knowledge must be brought 
into requisition. But he knows of no way of minister- 
ing to the want by a direct act of will. He knows that 
this is impossible, and he now wants to make such effort 
as will lead, though indirectly, to the desired result. 
He l&nows that, by examining the circumstances, the 
means may, perhaps, be found ; and he now wants to 
examine. This he has the power to do, and on doing 
it, he finds, from immediate perception, or from the 
memory of previous perceptions, that there is bread in 
the baker's shop over the way, or, at least, a probability 
of its being there ; but he knows of no way of obtaining 
it by a direct act of will, without being first near to it ; 
and he now wants to be at the baker's shop ; still, he 
knows no mode of accomplishing this end by a direct 
act of will ; but he knows that by a direct act of will he 
can make and govern the movements of his limbs so as 
to walk there ; and he now wards to walk there. To 
meet this want, he has the requisite knowledge and 
power ; he can will and successively continue to will 
the movements necessary to walk, and commencing 
with these, he goes through the several stages of mov- 
ing himself to the baker's shop, obtaining the bread and 
applying it to relieve his sensation of hunger. At every 
stage there was a want demanding effort, but no direct 
effort to relieve or gratify tlie want, until it was re- 



68 FREKDOM OF MIJN'D IN WILLING. 

duced to one in which thei-e was corresponding Tiiwiol- 
edge — knowledge of a means, of a plan, by which a so- 
ries of acts of will, in proper oj-der, would accomplish it. 
The wants, which arise in forming this plan, are all sec- 
ondary wants, and may be embraced in the want of the 
mind to apply its knowledge, or to obtain more knowl- 
edge to apply. 

The contrivance, or design, by which the finite mind 
finds means to reach indirectly, what it cannot by a di- 
rect act of will, is one mode in which it manifests its 
creative ]30wer. It is conceivable, that a man with his 
mind engrossed by some absorbing subject, and at the 
same time feeling hungry, might have his notions so 
confused as to move his teeth to chew before he put 
the food between them. Perhaps most persons have 
experienced something analogous to this, and all can 
readily perceive how abortive such efforts must be. 
Hence we see that, to produce any given efi'ect, it is 
important that the efforts should be in conformity to 
some pre-existing plan or design. A single want may 
thus require not only a number of acts of will, but that 
they shall be in a certain consecutive order ; and a lit- 
tle system, as clearly manifesting the orderly arrange- 
ment of designing cause, as our planetary' system, be 
created before the original want, which induced the 
effort, is gratified ; these little separate systems, going 
to form that universe which every man, by the exercise 
of his creative powers, is gradually constructing, and 
in which, as in the stellar universe, some of its consti- 
tuent parts are continually being formed, while others, 
having fulfilled the purposes of their existence, are oblit- 
erated. If, in the case just stated, we suppose the man 
to know, not that there is bread over the way, but that 



FREEDOiSr OF INTliLLIGKNCE. 69 

there is a baker's shop a short distance in one direction, 
where there may be bread ; and anotlier shop, farther 
off, in anotlier direction, where there is a greater prob- 
ability of finding it ; also, that in another place beef 
may be had, and fruit in another, then the judgment 
must be exercised ; the mind must seek, by examina- 
tion, to find the best mode of effort to get the bread, or 
to determine whether, in view of all the circumstances, 
the effort should not be to obtain the beef, or the fruit 
instead. In such case there is more extended delib- 
eration. 

We have already remarked that we do not make 
effort, or will as to what now is ; neither do we w^ill as 
to what is past. The object of our effort is always to 
influence that which is to be — -to produce some effect iu 
the future. What already is, or has been, has no other 
effect upon our decision as to the effort to be made, 
than as our memory of the past and perceptions of the 
present inci'ease the knowdedge by which we are better 
enabled to judge as to what effects we should seek to 
produce in the future, and add to our power and means 
to produce them. In other words, this knowledge ena- 
bles the mind to form those preconceptions of the effect 
of an}' contemplated effort, which are essential to its 
decision, or judgment, as to what effort it should put 
forth. The object of willing being always to produce 
some change in the future, this preconception of the 
effect of the willing on that future is obviously a very 
important element. If a man coidd not anticipate 
some desirable change as the result of his effort, he 
would not, as a rational and intelligent being, put forth 
the effort. Pie could have no object of effort and no 
reason for making it. To will, then, requires that, b\ 



70 fei-;edom of mind in willing. 

means of our knowledge of the past and present, intui- 
tive or acquired, we be able to obtain a prophetic view 
of the fnture. This is true of the effort to form these 
preconceptions. When they are not obvious to simple 
mental perception, effort is required to form them, and 
the mind must have some faith, that by effort in exam- 
ining, it can get the foresight — the knowledge required 
to form them, or so arrange its knowledge that such 
preconceptions will become apparent. The knowledge, 
that by examination we can get the knowledge requi- 
site for action, as before suggested, is essential to our 
first actions, and is probably intuiti\^e. 

As a conception, poetic or logical, of the effects of 
any contemplated efforts upon the future, is thus essen- 
tial to the effort, a being, with only sensation and a 
knowledge of the past and present, would not will. It 
is only by the God-like power of making the future 
present, that intelligence. Infinite, or finite, in the exer- 
cise of its will, becomes creative. By means of this 
power of anticipating its effects, the mind, in willing, is 
influenced by the anticipated creations of its own ac- 
tion, while those creations are still in the future, mak- 
ing a very broad distinction between intelligent and 
any conceivable unintelligent cause. 

It is this fact, that intelligent cause is influenced by 
its preconceptions of its own effects, that fits it for flrst 
CAUSE ; for that which is thus, as it were, drawn forward 
by the futnre, needs no propulsion from the past ; that 
which i>: moved by inducements before it, does not 
need a motive influence behind it ; that which acts 
from its owm internal perception of the effects of its 
own action upon its own internal, existing want, 
does not require to be first acted upon by extra- 



FBEEDOM OF INTELLIGENCE. Yl 

neous, external forces. It is essential that the want ex- 
ists, but not material to the action liow it came to exist. 
If the mind is moved to exert its causal influence in acts 
of will, bv the consideration of the effects which will 
succeed^ and not by what has jpreceded its action ; it 
cannot, up to the point of effort, but be a first cause, 
and, as such, an independent power, freely trying to 
do its finite part in that creation of the future, which 
is the object of its effort. In the jpast it has acquired 
the knowledge which aids its judgment as to the effect 
of any contemplated action under the present circum- 
stances. 

The problem which the mind has to determine, in 
such cases, and which the mind alone must determine, 
is this : given, a certain want, or, which is the same 
thing, a certain change to be wrought out in the future ; 
and, with this, certain facts, constituting whatever 
knowledge the mind has from memory of the past, or 
observation of tlie present, including, of course, all in- 
struction, from any source, human or Divine, up to the 
moment of deciding ; to determine by what change in 
the future the want may be gratified ; and then by 
what effort, or series of efforts, this gratifying change 
may be effected. If the want and the existing circum- 
stances, or facts, were not already fixed and determined, 
and, as such, not subject to the will, we should have, 
for finding the required volition, only variable and un- 
known data. There would be nothing fixed, or known 
as a basis of calculation, and the problem would be as 
indeterminate as that of constructing a triangle with 
three unknown sides. If the want were not fixed, the 
problem would still be indeterminate. The mind, that 
does not know what it wants, is not prepared to deter- 



72 FREEDOM OF MIND IN WILLING. 

mine its action. Or, if we suppose tlie want and the 
knowledge of it to be fixed, but all other knowledge to 
be dependent on the will ; then the mind would, by an 
act of Mall, have to fix this other knowledge of the past 
and present before it could make it available in deter- 
mining its course as to the future. The mind, in such 
case, would have to assume the facts and truths, by its 
own creative acts for its present purpose, make tliem 
fact and truth in some fixed form ; it would be acting 
upon an assumed basis, u^jon mere hypotheses, and the 
action founded upon such assumptions might prove to 
have no adaptation to tlie actual existences. No sane 
man would, from such process, expect other than im- 
aginary or hypothetical results, admitting of actual ap- 
plication only w^hen the actual existences happened to 
correspond with tlie assumed hypotheses. He might, in 
this way, plan action withont reference to any actual, 
existing circumstances, or to any changes, which other 
causes might be affecting ; but the chance of his plan 
being applicable to the actual existences, would be in- 
conceivably small. With the want and knowledge 
both given, the mind has only to determine their rela- 
tions to the conteuiplated acts, to make the problem 
analogous to that of constructing a triangle, knowing 
two sides and their relations to the other. It be- 
comes a determinate problem, but it is the mind's 
knowledge, including that of its want, which thus 
makes it determinate ; and the mind itself, by the use 
of its knowledge, actually determines it. If we do not 
know the existing facts or circumstances, which relate 
to onr action, we seek by a preliminary act to find 
tliem. The mind may be in doubt as to some, or all 
of the data, or knowledge, upon which it bases its con- 



FREEDOM OF INTELLIGkNCE. 73 

structions ; and, so far, the result will be doubtful and 
the problem be determinate only within the limits of 
certain probabilities ; or it may be mistaken in the 
data, either as to the facts, or the relations, and, so far, 
the result may be erroneous, and tlie act of will have 
no tendency to produce the expected result ; or there 
may be a want of power to produce the effect willed. 
However this may be, however perfect or imperfect the 
solution — the mind, with such means as it has, must it- 
self resolve this problem, growing out of the relations, 
indicated by its own knowledge, between its own want 
and the concej^tion which it forms of the future effect 
of certain of its own acts of will, and determine the re- 
sult or act of will, or that result, that act of will, will 
not be determined, l^o other power, material or intel- 
ligent, could possibly determine it withont knowing both 
the want, and the perception of the relation between 
the contemplated action and the want, which exist in the 
mind of the agent willing. This could be only by one 
who knows all our wants, " to whom all hearts are 
open, all desires known." On this point, of the pos- 
sible control of the finite will by the Supreme Intelli- 
gence, we have ah-eady made some suggestions, and shall 
consider it more fully in another place. 

From the views just stated it appears that, if the 
want and knowledge of the mind were subject to, in- 
stead of being independent of its will, they would 
have to be fixed by specific acts of will before any 
other act of will could be determined ; and the fact that 
the want and knowledge of the mind are not subject to 
the control of its will, instead of involving necessity as 
at first glance one might suspect, is really essential to 
the freedom of the mind in determining its action ; or 
4 



74 FKEEDOM OF MIND IN WILLING. 

at least, facilitates the exercise of that freedom. That 
we have want, know our want, and the means or mode 
of gratifying that want, cannot militate against our 
freedom in the use of that knowledge, to gratify the 
want. The want is the original incentive to that effort, 
the direction of which the mind determines by me.ans 
of the relations which it perceives between its wants 
and its preconceptions of the future effects of this effort ; 
among such conceptions selecting, or choosing, for ac- 
tualization, that one which, in its view, is best adapted 
to its purpose of gratifying, or relieving the want. It 
is in the forming of such preconceptions, as Avill prob- 
ably answer the purpose, in the accuracy of these pre- 
conceptions, or their conformity to the effects that will 
actually be produced, and in selecting among them, that 
the mind manifests its ability in action. 

Whether or not these preconceptions are realized by 
the power of the mind in effort, is not material. It is 
sufficient that its effort is a pre-requisite to such realiza- 
tion. Up to the point of and including the effort, the 
finite mind, in its own sphere, so far as we can know, 
exerts its creative powers in the same way as the Infi- 
nite, and as freely. It has a want ; forms a preconcep- 
tion of what changes will gratify the want ; what effort, 
or succession of efforts, will produce these changes ; and 
makes the efforts, or wills these changes. The only ne- 
cessity or restraint, differing from that of the Infinite, 
which the finite mind is under, arises, not from a dift'er- 
ence in the kind, but in the limited quantity of its 
power. It cannot do what it has not power to do ; it 
cannot act from considerations, which it does not per- 
ceive or apprehend ; or upon knowledge which it doea 
not possess ; i. <?., the finite mind cannot reconcile con- 



FREEDOM OF INTELLIGENCE. 15 

tradictions. But neither can the Infinite. In this re- 
spect they are, if not on the same, at least on similar 
footing. The finite mind cannot be infinite, and the In- 
finite cannot be finite ; and this difference in condition 
makes a corresponding difference in the contradictions, 
to reconcile, or to overcome which is, to each, impos- 
sible. If no intelligence can will to do Mdiat it knows 
that it cannot do, then the Infinite cannot will to do 
anything which is really impossible to it ; while the 
finite, being limited in knowledge, may will to do what, 
to it, is impossible, and even what is absolutely so ; for 
the very reason that it does not know the impossibility, 
or the fallacy in its perception of some apparent 
means ; and hence, the finite mind may will in some 
cases in which, if omniscient, it could not.* 

Having now premised that the finite intelligence 
has the powers essential to creative acts of will, and 
that it has a finite sphere connnensurate with its knowl- 
edge, in which it has a finite, all-pervading presence ; 
and in which, so far as we can know, its creative powers 
are exerted in the same manner as those of the Supreme 
Intelligence are, in His infinite sphere, let us suppose a 
commencement of creation. 

The one first cause — the Supreme Intelligence — ex- 
ists, and must have power to act, to will to do, or noth- 
ing would be done, or even attempted. This, in It, 
must be a fandaniental condition of its existence. It 
must, originally, as a part of the constitution of its Be- 
ing, know how to exert at least some of its powers, as 
the same knowledge is constitutional, or innate in the 
active finite intelligence. This Supreme Intelligence, 
then, is about to act for the fijst time. Its object is to 
* See Appendix, Note XVII. 



76 FREEDOM OF MIND IN WD^LING. 

produce some effect, some cliauge. To do this must 
require action of some kind on its part ; for, if the 
effect can take place without any such action, it can 
take phice as well without its agency as with it ; and 
the effect is not the effect of its agency. To produce 
an effect, even Omnipotence must exert its power — it 
must pnt forth effort, it must will. A creative God 
cannot be an inert Being, wholly passive, and yet mani- 
fest creative power. Such an idea cannot be conceived 
without violence to all our notions of power. Power 
itself does not act, but the heing that has power, acts 
and must exert its power — must put forth effort, or the 
power will not be exerted, will not produce any effect. 
Such a Being, then, is about to exert itj causative or 
creative powe)-. If there is no matter — nothing but this 
one intelligence, there is manifestly nothing extraneous 
to itself to oppose, to determine, or even to influence its 
action ; and it must, therefore, be free to exert its power 
as itself may determine. It must itself determine this 
first act, or it cannot be determined. Nor is it difficult 
to see how this may be done. Tlie Supreme Intelli- 
gence exists with its wants, its knowledge, and power ; 
its knowledge including the mode of nsing that power. 
It wants to create ; it has the knowledge of means ; the 
wisdom to select and to adopt those means ; and the pow- 
er to apply them, so as to produce the creation or change 
wanted. There being no opposing force, the first crea- 
tion, the first effect of its effort, must be in conformity 
to its design, if that design be within the province of its 
power to accomplish. If it could have but one want, 
and only the knowledge of one way to gi'atify tliat 
want ; if, in intelligence, there was no principle of 
adaptation to new circumstances, then, even this Su- 



FREEDOM OF INTELLIGENCE. 77 

preme Intelligence conld produce but this one effect, 
01-, at most, but duplications of it. From the fact that 
intelligence has a variety of wants ; also a variety of 
knowledge, or the faculties to acquire it ; and that, 
from its variable knowledge, it can select for use that 
which it deems best suited to the occasion, it becomes 
a variable cause, adapting itself to the want and the cir- 
cumstances existing in its view ; each new want, with 
every increase of its knowledge, and every combination 
of want with knowledge, becoming, in its view, a rea- 
son for new and different effects by the active intelli- 
gence, which thus becomes a multiple cause, produc- 
ing varied effects. Suppose, then, the first want which 
actuated the Supreme Intelligence to have been grati- 
fied ; that want can no longer exist ; and, it being a 
fundamental property of intelligence to want change, 
or to want to do ; a new want arises. It may be only 
a want of variety, or of exercise for its faculty, but an- 
other new creation, or effect in the future, is required to 
gratify this. want. This second creation must have some 
reference to the first. The first has changed the condi- 
tions, and a different combination of circumstances en- 
ters into the decision as to the mode in which the sec- 
ond want is to be gratified. This, however, does not 
interfere with the freedom of the active agent, but only 
varies the circumstances under, or upon which it freely 
exerts its active power. It contemplates another crea- 
tion — no less a new creation than the first, but begun 
or conceived under different circumstances, which the 
intelligence takes into account as a portion of its knowl- 
edge, by which it determines as to what is best to be 
done, and what the best means to do it. It is the same 
as though it had now to act for the first time, and found 



78 FREEDOM OF MIND IN WILLING. 

the circumstances, as they now are, to act upon, or to 
consider in its action. That by previous action it has 
itself made, or contributed to make, the circumstances 
what they are, has nothing to do with the proper action 
under them. The date, or the cause of their existence, 
cannot aflPect the result, all that enters into the delibera- 
tion being their actual present existence ; so that every 
successive act of the creative intelligence is the same as 
tlie beginning, or, we may say, is the beginning of a 
new creation, made in reference to what already exists. 
So also if, when intelligence was first to act, it found 
matter coexisting ; and further, that this matter was in 
motion and blindly producing changes in itself; this 
would vary the circumstances under which the intelli- 
gence would act, but could not afi'ect the freedom of its 
action. To this uncalculated and uncalculating state of 
things, it w^ould bring the new element of intelligent 
action, and, from the chaotic confusion of numerous 
blind forces, educe the order, the unity of^a designing 
cause. The design must be all its ownj for no variety, 
no quantity of blind causes, or forces, could make a de- 
sign,y<?rm a jpreconcejption^ or be in any M^ay influenced 
by, what, as yet, is not. For a similar reason, the efi'ort 
to fulfil the design must be its own eftort. Blind forces 
cannot conceive or will at all, much less will in con- 
formity to, or in the order of a preformed, or preexist- 
ing design or plan, which it cannot form, or know, but 
the design may be wisely so formed, that some, or all 
of such forces, if any such be possible, may cooperate 
with the eflbrt of the intelligent cause to actualize its 
designs or conceptions. The effort must, however, be 
to make the effect different from what it may be obvious 
that all such forces combined will do ; otherwise it is 



FKEIODOM OK INTELLIGENCE. 79 

but an effort to acoom/plish nothing j which is an ab- 
surdity. When, then, the design is such, that all the 
blind forces, unchanged, obviously aid in its accomplish- 
ment, the design must include something in addition to 
what the designing agent perceives these forces would 
themselves accomplish. Snch forces may be auxiliary 
to tlie power of the Supreme Intelligence, or may pre- 
sent circumstances to be changed and impediments to be 
overcome ; but evidently, for reasons above stated, do 
not interfere with His freedom of design or effort^ 
though, if His power were not infinite, they might pre- 
vent the actualization of the design, or frustrate the 
effort. If infinite, this could only occur in case the de- 
sign were so unwisely formed as to involve contradic- 
tion, as the making, on a plane surface, of two hills 
without a hollow. Such ct»ntradiction an infinitely 
wise Being would avoid. We have now supposed the 
Supreme Intelligence acting as the only cause, and also 
in connection with any blind causes. 

If we suppose one of the creations of the Supreme 
Intelligence to be a subordinate, finite intelligence, and 
this created intelligence to act freely as cause, pro- 
ducing its own effects, independent of the Supreme In- 
telligence, and without Its prescience, then the Supreme 
Intelligence must, in its subsequent creations, make 
these new circumstances, this new cause, with its own 
uncertainty, or ignorance of the effects which this cause 
may produce, a part of the foundation of its own ac- 
tion ; as the finite intelligence, in its action, has refer- 
ence to its own uncertainty and ignorance, as to many 
events depending on the action of the Infinite, of whicli 
it has no certain prescience. Some of these, however, 
we rely upon with implicit faith ; as the rising of the 



80 FEEEDOM OF MIND IN WILLING. 

snn 5 others, as tlie changes of the weather, are to us very 
uncertain ; and we must sometimes provide, in our de- 
signs or plans of action, for numerous contingencies, 
which we cannot certainly foreknow. This very uncer- 
tainty makes one of the circumstances which we have 
to consider in determining what, in view of all com- 
bined, we will try to effect. If there is any such uncer- 
tainty in the mind of God, as to human actions, it will 
be but one of the circumstances which He will consider 
in determining His own action. His designs. His 
efforts, though they may be made in reference to the 
existence of this finite cause, are not made, either wholly 
or in part, by it ; they are still his own designs, his own 
efforts, freely made. The existing finite intelligence 
not only has not sufficitnt power to coerce or control 
the freedom of the infinite, as to its designs and efforts, 
but it has no tendency to do so. The mere changing of 
the circumstances upon, or in view of which the Su- 
preme Intelligence acts, even though such change 
could, in some unseen way, frustrate the effort, could 
not affect the freedom of the design, or of the effort. 
Among, or upon one set of circumstances. His designs 
and efforts would be as free as among another set ; 
though some combination of circumstances may, to any 
but the infinite, require less, and some admit of less de- 
liberation, than others. The Supreme Intelligence, 
then, whether acting as the only activity in the uni- 
verse, or in connection with matter in motion, or with 
inferior intelligence, must will without constraint or re- 
sti'aint — mnst will freely. 

Nor can the amount of the power of the intelligence 
make any difference in regard to the freedom of its 
efforts. The mind's own estimate of its power, may be 



FREEDOM OF INTELLIGENCE. 81 

one portion of the knowledge bj which it judges as to 
what effoi't to make. If mistaken in this, it may make 
efforts which are unavailing. Still, this does not show 
any want of freedom in its willing^ but only a want of 
power to do what it wills. That it can will to do even 
what it cannot do, is rather an indication of its freedom 
in willing than otherwise. If, in conformity to a strin- 
gent logic, we suppose God to have no more power 
than is required to do what we see He has done, such 
limitation could not affect His freedom in the exercis« 
of that power. Neither can the amount of knowledge 
have any influence on the freedom of the efibrt, but 
only upon the wisdom of the design, or of the eJBfect in- 
tended. With inadequate knowledge we may not form 
full and correct preconceiDtions of the effect, or of the 
mode of producing it, and hence be liable to err in our 
judgment as to the wisdom or propriety of the contem- 
plated change, or to mistake the means of producing 
it, but tills does not effect our freedom in the attempt. 

It seems to be a self-evident proposition, that the 
Supreme Intelligence, acting alone as the only existing 
cause, must act freely ; and the views just stated, in 
connection wdth those before presented, in regard to 
spirit and matter as cause, show that this freedom is not 
— at least not necessarily — affected by the amount of 
the power, or of the knowledge of the intelligent cause ; 
nor by the coexistence of other causes, material or in- 
telligent. If, then, neither the amount of the power, 
nor of the knowdedge of the willing agent, nor the co- 
existence of other causes, influence the question of the 
freedom of the agent in willing ; and man, as we have 
shown, is creative in that finite sphere, in which, with 
finite power, he is present to all that he knc^ws ; as God 
4* 



82 FREEDOM OF MINU IN WILLING. 

is creative in that infinite sphere in which He is om- 
nipotent and omnipresent, we must infer that man may 
as freely exercise his finite creative powers in his finite 
sphere, as God does His infinite powers in His infinite 
sphere ; and, that every act of will is a new and inde- 
pendent movement, and, as it were, a fresh beginning 
of a new creation, evolved by the mind from the new 
conibination of circumstances in view of which it wills. 
Each individual intelligence wills as in its view of the 
circumstances it deems best ; and though these circum- 
stances may be the result, the composition, of the pre- 
vious action of itself and of all other intelligences, and 
any other possible causes, still, as no such action can 
change the present state of things, at the present time, 
eacli intelligence acts, so far as external circumstances 
are concerned, as if, at the moment of its action, all 
other powers were quiescent and itself the only active 
power in existence. What the others have already 
done, or may be expected to do, are but portions of the 
circumstances upon which the mind acts in judging, or 
deciding, as to the eff'ort it will make, if any. In re 
gard to its own efforts, then, the finite mind, so far as 
external events, circumstances, and coexisting causes are 
concerned, at the moment of willing, may be as free as 
if no other intelligence or force existed ; and hence, 
may will freely, though other forces may frustrate the 
subsequent execution of what it wills. One intelligence 
may to the extent of its power, shape the circumstances 
with a view to influence tlie will of another ; but this 
is presuming that the other wills ft^eely. If that other 
does not, there would seem to be no use in presenting 
to it the newly adjusted circumstances to influence its 
will ; no reason to suppose that its will could thus be 



FREEDOM OF INTELLIGENC'K. 0,1 

influenced by any change of circumstances produced by 
other intelligences, or other causes. 

In connection with the argument that, as the free- 
dom of the mind in willing is not affected by the 
amount of its power, or knowledge, the finite mind 
may will as freely as the infinite, the foregoing views 
suggest that it makes no diff'erence at what period of 
creation the finite mind begins to act. Suppose it, first 
having acquired knowledge, to have been quiescent for 
ages, and again to begin to act at this moment, and 
that previous activities, having brought creation to its 
present state, should all cease to act, except those agen- 
cies, whatever they may be, which execute the decrees 
of the human will, leaving nothing but this one finite 
mind, with its wants, faculties, knowledge, and the sur- 
rounding circumstances ; these latter all quiescent in 
the state to which the recent activities brought them. 
This one finite mind could make effort to change these 
circumstances, in the absence of all other active influ- 
ences, as well as with their presence ; and, in their ab- 
sence, there being nothing else, must itself direct the 
effort, which must be directed, and is consequently free 
in making that effort, and especially as there is nothing 
to oppose, to constrain, or control it in so doing. How- 
ever small its power to will, that power must be suffi- 
cient to overcome no obstruction. The circumstances 
do not make the eff'ort, or any part of it. In order to 
form a preconception of the effect of any contemplated 
effort to change the present, the mind must consider 
what now is, and hence acts in reference to what al- 
ready is ; but mere circumstances, having in themselves 
no power, no self-activity, cannot act upon anything, 
and can only be acted upon. The finite mind, then, 



84 FREEDOM OF MIND IN WILLING. 

under such conditions, being, by the hypothesis, the 
only activity, the only power capable of producing 
change, or capable of making elibrt to produce change, 
must be wholly unimpeded in such effort, and must de- 
termine its effort, without extraneous aid or hindrance. 
Nor can it make any difference, if we suppose the other 
activities to be reinstated. They cannot alter the past, 
nor can they in the present moment, alter the present, 
whatever already is, though its existence commenced in 
the present instant, is as surely existent as if it com- 
menced its existence ages before. The reinstating, then, 
of these other activities, at the instant that this sup- 
posed one finite mind wills, cannot, at that instant, alter 
the circumstances, except as their own existence is a 
fact added to the knowledge of this one mind, and, thus 
far, may vary its action ; but cannot, as before shown, 
affect its freedom in acting. From this fact, that no 
cause can alter what is at the instant, in the same in- 
stant — or make things as they are, and, at the same 
time, different from what they are — eveiy act of the in- 
telligent being, finite or infinite, is the same as a first 
act of such being, under such circumstances as it might 
find coexisting, and, in the absence of all other activ- 
ities, forces, or causes ; and further, as the number of 
coexisting circumstances does not afi'ect the mind's free- 
dom in choosing among them, or in combining them, or 
in considering their relations to its efibrts, or in its pre- 
conceptions of the effects ; and the quantity of the 
agent's power does not affect its freedom in using what 
it has ; every effort of the finite mind may be as free as 
the first creative act of the Infinite, even supposing It 
to have then been the only existence. 

These considerations serve to show that the finite 



FREEDOM OF INTELLIGENCE. 85 

mind may will freelj ; and we shall next inquire as to 
wlietlier it is controlled in willing by any other power. 

The only essential elements in willing which are 
within the mind, and yet are not the mind's action, are 
want and knowledge. The want does not itself will. 
It does not direct the will ; for it has not the knowledge 
by which alone this can be done. The knowledge does 
not will, nor, itself, direct the will ; for knowledge, if 
considered as an entity distinct from mind, is not, in it- 
self, intelligent, and cannot even know the want to the 
gratiiication of which the effort must be adapted. It is 
also obvious that no want, or combination of want with 
knowledge, can will. Tlie effort and its direction, or 
determination, must be by that which is cognizant of 
both the want and the knowledge, and perceives the 
relations between them ; that is, by an intelligent being, 
or agent. 

In regard to external control, I will further observe 
that the only conceivable modes in which the mind of 
any finite intelligent being, as man, can be influenced 
from without itself, in its act of will, are, 

First, by some other intelligence, cause, or force act- 
ing directly upon his will, and, as it were, taking the 
place of his mind, and using his w411 to accomplish its 
own objects ; or. 

Secondly, by such other intelligence, cause, or force 
acting directly upon that man's mind and, by control- 
ling its action, through it control his will ; or. 

Thirdly, by so changing his knowledge, including 
the knowledge of those sensations and emotions which 
are elements of want, that in consequence of this change 
of knowledge, he comes to a different result, and wills 
differently. 



86 FRKEDOM OF MIND IN WILLING. 

As the power of matter, if it have any, must be lim- 
ited to changing the cii'cumstances and tlms changing 
the knowledge on which, or in view of which, we act, 
it can only influence us in the last of the three modes, 
and hence may be excluded in considering the other 
two. 

The first of these involves the absurdity of making 
the w^ill a distinct entity, separable from the particular 
mind with w-hich it is usually associated, and liable to 
be used by any other intelligence, that can get posses- 
sion of it. 

If the will is not a distinct entity, but is a mere 
quality, property, faculty, or attribute of a mind ; or a 
result or condition of its activity ; then, when we de- 
stroy its connection with that mind, or with its activity, 
the will vanishes as completely as the image in a mir- 
ror, when the object is removed from before it ; and 
there is no will left to be thus controlled by another in- 
telligence, or other external force. Upon the hypothe- 
sis that my will is a distinct entity, or a separate por- 
tion of my mind, it is, perhaps, conceivable that such 
will, though controlled by another, may be so connected 
or associated Avith njy mind, as in some sense to be said 
to be my will ; but even then, the action of that will, 
thus controlled by another, cannot be my action ; the 
effort, the willing tluough, or by means of, that will, is 
not my willing, but it is the effort, the willing of that 
othei- intelligence, which tlms uses my will and acts 
through it ; and, in such case, my mind makes no efibrt 
— I do not will at all. Hence the question, as to wheth- 
er I will freely or not, cannot arise in this case. 

In the second case, if another intelligence directly 
controls raj mind, and causes it to will without any 



FREEDOM OF INTELLIGENCE. 87 

reference to my own views, my own knowledge, then 
my intelligence has nothing to do with the willing. I 
am not then the intelligent being that wills, or the 
agent that acts, bnt am the mere instrument which 
some otlier active agent uses, as it wonld an axe, or a 
lever, to accomplish its own purposes. The willing, 
thus directly controlled by external power, may be in 
opposition to that which I perceive would accomplish 
what I want. If the external power perceives in me 
certain conditions of want and knowledge, and conforms 
the forced action of my mind to them, it is thus con- 
formed by the volition of the external power, and not 
by my action. The extrinsic agent perceives the con- 
ditions, and their relations to the action, as the sculptor 
perceives the aptitudes of a block of marble, in which 
he works out his own designs. So, if my mind is con- 
strained in its act of will by external power, my ow^n 
want and knowledge, my perception of means to ends, 
my preconceptions of tlie effect, have no more to do 
with the coerced action, than the foi-m of the block of 
marble has with the action of the sculptor. The act is 
not the action of my intelligent being. It is not I who 
act^ but some other being, which, in acting, uses me as its 
instrument. I am, in such case, no more than an inert 
something^ acted upon by intelligence, which is not of 
me ; and I in no wise diifer from unintelligent sub- 
stance, except, in being conscious of the changes thus 
wrought in me by a power without me. 

In neither of the first two of the three supposed 
cases of control of the will of any being by the action 
of extraneous power ; viz. : that directly exerted on the 
will, or that on the mind, to compel, or constrain its act 
of will, can there be any willing by that being to be 



CO FREEDOM OF MIND IN WILLING. 

thus controlled. In these cases, such being does not it- 
self act, but is only a passive subject, acted upon by 
some external power, though still having the capacity 
to feel, and to know, the changes thus produced in it. 
There may still be a being with sensation and knowl- 
edge, but no will.* Hence, the moment we reach the 
point of controlling the will, in either of these two 
modes, there is no willing of the being to be controlled. 
It may further be remarked that, even if such extrinsic 
control and willing were compatible in themselves, we 
neither know, nor can conceive of any mode in which 
extrinsic power could be directly applied either to wall 
or to mind. 

In regard to the third and the only other conceiv- 
able mode, there are various ways in which the knowl- 
edge of one intelligence may be increased or changed 
by another. In relation to external circumstances, this 
may be done by adding to or altering the actual exist- 
ing circumstances, which is an exercise of creative 
power, finite or infinite, so that other intelligent beings, 
perceiving this change, will, in virtue of their intelli- 
gence, their power to adapt their efforts to circum- 
stances by means of their knowledge, will differently 
from what they would have done but for such addition, 
or change of circumstances. Even finite mind may so 
influence the infinite. 

In regard to those abstract ideas, and the perceived 
relations among them, which are not influenced by ex- 
trinsic changes — ^in regard to what is true or false — the 
views and knowledge of one finite mind may be changed 
through the action of another mind in statement, illus- 
traCion, argument, &c. ; but the finite intelligence can- 
* See Appendix, Note XVIII. 



FEEEDOM OF INTELLIGENCE. 89 

not thus influence omniscience. But such change of 
knowledge in any mind, from any cause, whether by 
the action of others or by its own efforts, or directly 
through its own simple perceptive attributes without 
aid or eflort, is not the willing of that mind ; it is not 
such willing in any one of these cases of change of 
knowledge, more than in the otliers ; and the only rea- 
son why, in either case, such change in the mind's 
knowledge has any influence on its willing is because 
it freely conforms its action to its knowledge — to its 
perceptions of the fitness of the action to the end 
sought. If the circumstances themselves be altered, 
this is not of itself altering the will, and no alteration 
can take place in it, except as the mind acts upon its 
perceptions of the altered circumstances, and that, 
under a different view of the circumstances, whether 
produced by an actual change in them, or by argument, 
or otherwise, the mind may will differently^ or make a 
different effort in consequence of the change in its 
knowledge, is no evidence that it does not will freely, 
but, on the contrary, such change of its act of will to 
conform to its own views, or its own knowledge, indi- 
cates its own unrestrained control of its own act of will ; 
and, as already intimated, if it does not will freely, 
there is no reason to expect any change of its will, by 
changing its view of the circumstances, either by direct 
action on the mind, or indirectly, by actual change of 
the circumstances viewed. If it does not will freely, 
that which is desirable, if it have any influence at all, 
may influence it in the same way as that which is unde- 
sirable ; and if this lack of freedom extends to the inter- 
nal, as well as the external, even a man's own virtuous 
emotions, or proper wants, may be the foundation of 



90 rj.EEDOM OF MIND IN WILLING. 

vicious voluntary eiforts ; all of which is not only con- 
trary to observed fact, but is self-contradictory and 
absurd. 

These considerations, touching the influence which 
may be supposed to arise from the mind's view being 
affected by change of circumstances, are equally appli- 
cable, if the circumstances change in any other way, or 
are changed by any other cause than another intelli- 
gence ; and even if they change themselves — if any 
such changes, or modes of change, are possible. Even 
if matter or circumstances are an independent cause, 
producing effects, it can produce no other effects on the 
mind's action than may be produced by intelligent 
cause changing the circumstances in view of which the 
mind acts ; and hence the reasoning just herein ap- 
plied to the influence of other intelligent causes on the 
will, applies also to any which are unintelligent. 

The mind, in determining its own action, may con- 
sider what any other cause may be expected to do, and, 
in willing accordingly, still will freely. The mind, in 
willing, builds the future upon the present circum- 
stances, and is thus active in a sphere which circum- 
stances have not yet reached. It uses the circumstances 
as means, and in the absence of such means, may not 
be able to effect wdiat it might effect with them. 

In regard to this influence of circumstances, we may 
further observe, that if any future event is necessarily 
connected with any circumstance^ or with any thing in 
the past or present, and comes to pass of necessity from 
such connection, then the cii'cumstance, or thing, is 
itself the cause of that future event, which must thus 
come to pass in virtue of such connection without any 
act of will. If it be said that the act of will is it- 



FREEDOM OF INTELLIGENCE. 91 

self tliat event which is thus so connected with the 
past or present circumstance or thing, that it conies to 
pass in virtue of such connection, then the circum- 
stance, or thing, is the cause of such act of will, and is 
the power which produces it, and the being, to whom 
the act is attributed, really makes no effort, he acts no 
act of will, there is no willing by him. Again, the in- 
stant that, in the past or present, with which such act 
of will is necessarily connected, comes to pass, the act 
of will, being of necessity connected with it, also comes 
to pass, and they are really simultaneous ; and every 
act of will necessarily dependent on the past or present 
must, at any subsequent instant of time, have actually 
taken place, and no new act of will could grow out of 
this past. If the act of will has no such neoessa/ry con- 
nection, but subsequently becomes so connected, then 
the new connection is a change, requiring a cause, 
which did not of necessity produce its effect at the in- 
stant the past circumstances came into existence ; but 
this must be a cause which can originate and begin 
subsequent action, i. e., a cause which is at least so far 
independent of these past circumstances, that it need 
not act in immediate connection with, or as a necessary 
consequence of their existence. But, if the effect of 
these past circumstances may be deferred for one mo- 
ment, it can be for another and another, and so may 
never be, and hence is not a necessary effect. From 
what has just been said, it is evident that no new effect 
can come from past existences, till some new cause has 
connected such effect with such past existence, and 
hence it follows, that an act of will never can be the 
necessary effect of anything in the past, or have any 
connection with it, till the action of some efficient cause 



92 FEEEDOM OF MIND EST WILLING, 

makes the connection, and, in such case, the cause 
which makes this connection is really the cause of the 
act of will. Now the only conceivable modes in which 
the eliects of a cause can be continued in time, after the 
cause has itself ceased to act, are by means of matter in 
motion, and by intelligence retaining or recalling the 
effects by memory, and thus, as to itself, making them 
still present. But matter in motion cannot will or se- 
lect, decide or determine, among the various conceiv- 
able possible volitions ; and though it may be a link in 
the connection between a past event and a volition, the 
last and essential link is made by the mind itself. The 
nature of the circumstances cannot enable them to 
make a necessary connection, or to decide when and 
where it shall be ; their nature can have no influence 
on the mind in willing till it knows their nature, and it 
is thus only through the cognition of the mind itself, 
that they have any influence on the act of will ; and 
the real connecting cause is intelligence, — mind ; — and 
the past circumstances, including any movements of 
matter, only furnish the knowledge, or reasons, for its 
action in willing. These positions confirm the conclu- 
sion we before reached by another mode, that every act 
of will is, in itself, a beginning of action. 

Again, if the past is a necessary cause of volition in 
a mind, then, as to this mind, there always is a past, it 
must be constantly willing, which is contrary to the 
known fact. If it be said that, though the past does 
not of necessity always produce a volition, yet, whenever 
a volition does occur, it is, of necessity, so connected with 
the past as to be controlled by it, then, as the circum- 
stances cannot themselves select and determine when 
this connection shall, and when it shall not be, we must 



FREEDOM OF INTELLIGENCE. 93 

tfnd some other cause for this connection, and our pre- 
vious reasoning upon this connecting cause recurs. 
Even if we suppose this subsequent connection to make 
the effect, i. e., the act of will, necessary ; it does not 
follow that the cmise, which, by this connecting, pro- 
duced the act of will, was necessitated in its action by 
the preexisting past ; but, on the contrary, it has been 
shown that, if so, all the possible acts of will must be 
simultaneous with the supposed past existence, which is 
thus presumed to cause and necessitate them, and no 
new act of will, or any other effect, could thereafter 
arise, as the effect of such connection with the past. 

From this reasoning it also follows, that there must 
be some cause, which does not, of necessity, produce its 
effects immediately J but, as just stated, if the effect of 
a cause may be deferred one instant, it may be deferred 
another and another, and so on forever, and hence such 
cause may never produce its effect ; and .this mnst be a 
cause, a power, which, so far as the past is concerned, 
may act, or not act. Mind, intelligence, is such a pow- 
er, and it is conceivable that matter in motion may be, 
both admitting the intervening of time between any 
two extrinsic changes which they may produce by 
their continuous activity ; and these are not merely the 
only causes that we know of as admitting of this de- 
ferred effect of their activity, but the only real causes 
of any kind, that we can conceive of If the activity — 
the motion — of matter ceases, it requires external force, 
again to put it in motion. If the activity of spirit 
ceases, it requires some change within, or without it- 
self, which it feels or perceives — some want — to rouse 
it to activity. It seems conceivable, that these two kinds 
of causes may act and react upon each other, at least 



94 FEEEDOM OF MIND IN WILLING. 

thus far, that intelligence may put matter in motion, 
and thus make it a cause of change, and that the 
changes caused by matter in motion njay furnish the 
occasions or the reasons for the action of intelligent 
cause. It is not, however, conceivable that matter can 
act directly on the will of any intelligence, but, only by 
changing the circumstances, occasion it to want, or if 
listless and inert, remind and call its attention to the 
conditions of want. And this is only so to alter its 
knowledge, that its own action, freely conformed to its 
own knowledge, will be different from what it would 
have been but for such changes by matter. The same 
is true of all changes or circumstances external to the 
mind whose action is tlius influenced, and which are 
prodnced by any cause extrinsic to it, or even by itself. 
It is the changed knowledge that the mind uses to de- 
termine its action, without regarding how it became 
changed. 

If matter in motion, or any other unintelligent cause 
can change the circumstances, the changes can of them- 
selves produce only the same subsequent effects as if 
such changes were the results of intelligent cause. In 
the one case it would be cause doing without design 
what, in the other, cause did with design. No such 
causes of change in circumstances, and no such change 
of circumstances, can act directly on any will without 
making that will its own ; and can only influence an- 
other to will differently by, in some way, changing its 
knowledge ; and this it may do by actually changing 
the circumstances which the mind views, or the mind's 
view of the same circumstances without any change in 
them. This is the limit of the power of circumstances 
on the mind in willing, and all their power, as already 



FREEDOM OF INTELLIGENCE. 95 

sliown, de^pends on the 7nind''s cibility to will freely — 
to direct its own action in conformity with its own 
knowledge. 

In many cases, in which the act of will is snpposed 
to be controlled by circumstances, the influence is not 
ascribed to any existing circumstances, but rather to 
the fact, that certain circumstances do not exist. When 
such non-existence is recognized by the mind before its 
act of will is determined, it makes a portion of the 
knowledge by which its efibrt is influenced or deter- 
mined, but, when it is not recognized, it may only influ- 
ence the effect of its effort. In the case of non-existencCj 
it is obvious that the mind is influenced in its effort, 
not by the non-existent thing, but by its own knowl- 
edge of such non-existence, and of the consequences at- 
tending it, and it is also true, in the case of any external 
existence, that the mind is influenced in its efforts, not 
by the thing itself, but by its knowledge of the existing 
thing, and of the consequences attending it. The thing 
itself, if unknown, would have no eff^ect upon the mind, 
or upon its efibrt ; and it is only by changing its knowl- 
edge, that changes in circumstance have any influence 
whatever on the mind's action ; and change of effort, 
upon changed knowledge, as already shown^ does not 
conflict with freedom of effort. 

If there were no past or present circumstances — 
nothing external to itself — for the mind to know, or 
even if there were none known to it, its only act of 
will or effort would be to create something out of noth- 
ing — to begin a primary creation. In doing this it 
would not of course be controlled by existing or past 
circumstances. And, if we suppose events and circum- 
stances already existing to be in action and producing 



96 FREEDOM OF MIND IN WILLING. 

effects, tlien, the only reason for the action of an inteUi- 
gent will must be, either to arrest or to vary those 
effects, or to produce other wholly independent effects. 
These last must be by the mind acting independently 
of the existing circumstances, exce2:)ting so far as it per- 
ceives that they will not produce the effects ; and in 
this case the mind directs its own action or effort, by 
means of its own knowledge of the end wanted and of 
the modes of reaching it ; or, in other words, perceiv- 
ing that no other causes are producing the desired re- 
sult, the mind exerts its own causative power to do it. 

In the other case, when the mind seeks to arrest or 
•^o vary the effects of the supposed action of circumstan- 
ces, its effort must be to resist or control their influence; 
which is the reverse of control of the mind by the cir- 
cumstances. If, however, it be supposed that the effort, 
or volition, is one of the effects of the action of the cir- 
cumstances, there being but one effect, and that effect 
not a thing, in itself, but merely a change in the condi- 
tion of a thing or being, such change, or such effort, 
or volition, must be the effect of its cause. And 
hence, in such case, the effort or volition is the effort 
or volition of the circumstances, and not of the being 
with which it is associated, and argues nothing against 
the freedom of that being when it exerts its power to 
produce an effect — when it does will. 

A man may will to give a beggar a shilling, and 
unexpectedly find he has no shilling to give. He free- 
ly willed to give. He acted upon his knowledge, — be- 
lief, — that he had the shilling, the means of producing 
the future effect which he designed ; but, in the execu- 
tion of that design he was frustrated by the actual ex- 
isting circumstance. It is in the doing what he wills. 



FREEDOM OF INTELLIGENCE. 97 

and not in the loilling, that a man may be directly con- 
trolled by the external circumstances. 

Of the three and only conceivable modes of influ- 
encing the mind in willing, from without the mind that 
wills, two of them are inconsistent with any exercise of 
its will, and the other is effective only in case the mind 
wills freely. If, then, in willing, it is influenced by 
something extrinsic, it must, to be so influenced, will 
freely ; and if, in willing, it is not influenced by any- 
thing extrinsic, it must, in such act, be wholly under its 
own control, and, of course, be free in such act of will- 
ing ; so that, if a mind wills at all, it must will freely. 

The same result, in terms, is more concisely reached 
thus. For a man to will and yet not will freely, is to 
will as he does not will ; is to be willing when lie is 
unwilling, which is a contradiction. Reasoning, then, 
directly upon the nature of the things involved in the 
inquiry, or from the logical relations of the terms by 
which those things are represented in the common dis- 
course of men, we reach the same conclusions, that the 
mere act of willing implies a free action, involving the 
necessity of freedom in the agent willing ; and that to 
will, and yet not will freely, involves a contradiction ; 
and hence, the only question left, in regard to the free- 
dom of the human intelligence in willing, is, does it 
will ? This we assumed as a fundamental premise of 
our argument, and, if our reasoning is correct, the con- 
clusion that the mind wills freely is within our pos- 
tulate. 

ISTecessitarians assert that the existence of such free- 
dom is neither true in fact, nor even possible. I shall 
notice their arguments in Book II. of this work. 
5 



CHAPTER XI. 



INSTINCT AND HABIT. 



It appears, then, that every being that really wills, 
must will freely. The sphere of its free activity may 
be more or less circumscribed, varying with the extent 
of its intelligence, from the lowest, most sluggish form 
of sentient life, to that of the most vital and ethereal 
spirit — from the contracted M'orld of the monad, to the 
illimitable sphere of the Supreme Intelligence. Through- 
out this infinite range, each, in its own sphere, is equally 
free. If I want a piece of metal, and, from deficiency 
of knowledge, know only tin and lead, I cannot will to 
have gold ; and yet, as to the obtaining of tin or lead, 
my efforts may be as free as though I knew all the 
metals, "Within this limit of nij knowledge I am as 
free to will, as if I were omniscient. If I have knowl- 
edge of other metals, but also know that I have power 
to obtain only tin or lead, I will not make the effort to 
obtain gold ; but as to tin and lead, I may will as freely 
as if I were omnipotent. 

Mere matter — unintelligent, having no will — must 
be wholly controlled, in its changes, by some power with- 
out itself ; all real changes in it, except the subsidiary 
effects of the finite, must be referred to the action of 
the Supreme Intelligence. Or if, in any sense, matter 



INSTINCT AND HABIT. 99 

can be said to produce change, by being itself in mo- 
tion, such change is, and, as before shown, must he a 
necessary consequence of such motion, which the mat- 
ter has no power to prevent or to vary. It has no 
knowledge, and, so far as its owni movements, indepen- 
dent of any present action of intelligence, are concerned, 
is wholly controlled by the past. In short, it has no 
will, no self-control, and hence no inherent or real lib- 
ei'ty. And if it had, having no knowledge, it would 
have no sphere in which to manifest it. If to senseless 
matter we add only sensation, it could feel, but not 
will. It might suffer, and yet could not know that any 
change is either possible or desirable. As yet it hnow8 
no want^ and must passively suffer or enjoy its sensa- 
tions. If now, adding want, we suppose a being capable 
of conceiving that by change its sufiering may be di- 
minished, or its pleasure enhanced, it may then want 
change; but if it have no knowledge as to what change 
will produce the effect desired, or knows no real or sup- 
posable mode of producing such change, it still cannot 
will. With the addition of such knowledge, will be- 
comes possible, though it does not follow of necessity ; 
otherwise, it would always immediately follow, and 
there would be no opportunity for the mind to select as 
to the different wants, or as to the different means of 
gratifying the same want ; the first want felt, with the 
first known means, would immediately determine the 
volition ; and no exercise of the judgment, no delibera- 
tion as to different wants and modes, would be possible, 
which is contrary to known facts. To be available lor 
effort, the knowledge must extend to the future. A 
being which does not perceive enough of the future to 
conceive that the effect of its action will, or mav be, to 



100 FREKDOM OF MIND IN WILLING. 

gratify its want ; for instance, that taking food may re- 
lieve its hunger, cannot be said to act, to eat, from any 
intelligence of its own ; and, in such case, some power 
without it must move it to action if it be moved. 

It lacks an essential element of creative, or first 
cause ; it does not form a preconception, perfect or im- 
perfect, true or false, of the effect of its effort. It can 
have no design, no purpose, no intent, no end in view ; 
and hence has no inducements to effort. It is evident, 
that to will to do anything requires an idea, a precon- 
ception, of the thing, or of something to be done ; to 
make an effort and have no object of effort ; to will and 
not will anything is an inapossible absurdity. Such a 
being, though it might still have sensations in the pres- 
ent and memories of the past, yet, perceiving no rela- 
tion of these sensations and memories to the future, 
would have no means within itself of foreknowing tlie 
effects of its efforts on the future, or that there would 
be any effect whatever ; and would not will as to that 
future. It would have no will. It has no knowledge 
except as to the past and present ; it is not, in any 
sense, in the future, and cannot act in the future ; its 
whole sphere of thought and activity is confined to the 
past, bounded and separated from the future by the 
present. It cannot change the past and any effort in 
regard to it, as to remember, or to recombine what it 
remembers, is really an effort to produce 2^ future effect. 
It cannot will any effect, or change, as to the past or 
present ; and thus, having no knowledge available for 
willing, its sphere of free activity, always commensu- 
rate with that knowledge, is reduced to nothing. All 
changes in, or of such a being, must still, like those of 
unintelligent matter, be efiected by some power with- 



INSTINCT AND HABIT. 101 

out itself, with only tliis dilfei'erK'e, that the being may 
feel and recollect the clianges, and matter cannot 
There is no conceivable way in which such a being 
could manifest its sensations and memories ; and, unless 
the external power, acting upon it, caused it to exhibit 
the phenomena we usually attribute to internal power 
— to will — such being would apj^ear to us the same as 
senseless matter, moved only by exteiiial forces. If all 
finite intelligences wej-e of this order, any real changes 
in matter could only be by the will of God. The same 
also of a being with sensation, but no power of volun- 
tary action — no will ; and a being with no knowledge 
of good and evil, — using these terms in a large sense, — 
would have no choice as to its sensations, no want, and 
no will. In such beings all change must be either im- 
mediately or mediately by the act of God. The neces- 
sity of this control by the Supreme Intelligence, to the 
preservation of the being, or to any change in it, dimin- 
ishes as the being derives or acquires power itself to 
contrive those plans, which are essential to its existence 
and well being.* 

The lowest order of intelligence, then, with which 
will is compatible, is that in which there is only one 
want ; with the knowledge of only one means of grati- 
fying it ; and that knowledge wholly intuitive. We 
say intuitive, because this implies less intelligence than 
acquired knowledge ; which presupposes an ability to 
learn by observation, or by rational process. Even to 
act from knowledge acquired by simple observation, re- 
quires an inference ; whereas this inference, or rather 
the idea or fact inferred, may itself be the subject of 
the intuitive knowledge. For instance, if I have ol> 

* See Appendix, 'N'ote XIX, 



102 FRKEDOM OF MIND IN WILLING. 

served that, wlien at one time I willed to move my 
hand, it did move ; I may, from association, expect, or, 
having some previous idea of the uniformity of cause 
and effect, infer that when again I repeat the effort, the 
effect may be the same ; whereas, the knowledge that 
willing the movement of the hand is the way to move 
it, may be directly imparted intuitively. In the former 
case I have to devise the plan to reach the end from 
my own knowledge ; in the latter, the plan of effort is 
previously devised for me. The sphere of effort, as also 
of freedom, in a being with only one want and one 
known means of gratifying it, would be limited to grati- 
fying its only want in the only mode known to it, or 
not gratifying it at all. It is still a sphere commensu- 
rate with knowledge. The gratification of its want 
W'Ould still depend on its own effort, without which its 
want w^ould not be gratified. To reduce this to its low- 
est terms, we must suppose the being having only one 
w^ant and an intuitive perception of only one mode of 
gratifying it ; also to have no knowledge — no thought 
— that it may possibly be better not to gratify it. If, 
in this hypothesis, we increase the number of wants, 
and suppose that only one of them arises at a time, it 
makes no material difference. In each case, as it oc- 
curs, it is still one want, one known mode of change, 
and no knowledge, or thought that it may be better not 
to adopt that mode, or to make no effort to produce 
that change. If more than one want arise at once, or 
if the being knows of more than one mode applicable 
to the want, it must select among them ; it must com- 
pare and judge, requiring that mode of effort, which is 
known as an exercise of the rational faculties ; but, 
under the condition above named, no comparison is in- 



INSTINCT AND HABIT, 103 

stituted ; there is no occasion, no room for the exercise 
of the rational faculties. Now all animals, so far as we 
can ascertain, come into existence with wants, and some 
one Icnown mode of gratifying each want, and no thought 
that it may be better not to gratify it ; and hence, re- 
quiring no additional knowledge to direct its effort, and 
of course no exercise of the rational faculties, no delib- 
eration to obtain it ; and this is instinct. 

Instinctive action still involves a free effort of intel- 
ligence, though it precludes the exercise of the rational 
faculties in devising the mode of effort, or in selecting 
from different modes already devised by itself, or by 
others. Having the want, the requisite knowledge of 
the means, and the power to use the means, or to make 
an effort, it makes that effort. The effort in such case 
is spontaneous ; no deliberation being required ; but 
there is still an effort. It may, perhaps, be certain, that 
under those conditions such being will make the one 
particular effort, the only one known to it ; but this is 
not because it is constrained to uiake, but, because it is 
in no way restrained from making such effort. It feels 
the want, has the power to gratify it, knows how, and 
being free to exert its power, does itself exert it. The 
effort still is the actual, the uncontrolled, the free effort 
of the being that mtikes it, and without which effort the 
effect would not be produced. That it has no knowl- 
edge of any other effort, does not affect its freedom in 
making that which it does know. It is not as in the 
case of matter which some other power has put in mo- 
tion and directed — the freedom of which, if it can have 
any, consists in the absence of any obstruction, or coun- 
teraction — for in instinctive action intelligence still uses 
and directs its own powers, and, without such self- 



104 FEKEDOM OF MIND IN WILLING. 

movement, there would be no exercise of its powers. 
That the knowledge bj which it directs such exercise 
or ejffort is intuitive and not acquired, cannot aifect its 
freedom in using its knowledge for directing its efforts, 
or for any other purpose. In either case, once in pos- 
session, it is equally knowledge, and the mind's own 
knowledge. An act of will is tlie primary self-move- 
ment of the mind, and not an antecedent cause of it. The 
effect, or sequence which it, as a first cause, produces, 
is some change of body or mind. In an act of will or 
effort, the agent, even when he knows only one mode 
of action, is free in a different and wider sense than 
that of not being counteracted in an action which some 
external power has imposed upon him. 

The agent willing is free to make and to direct the 
effort which it does itself make. If there be nothing 
in existence bnt himself acting through his will, and his 
want and knowledge, which are independent of his will, 
the efibrt may yet be made. The want itself cannot 
know, or apply the knowledge. The knowledge itself 
cannot know the want and adapt the effort to it, nor 
could both combined. This must be done by some- 
thing which is not only conscious of both the want and 
the knowledge, but is capable of perceiving the rela- 
tions between them, — by the intelligent being, — and, as 
there is no other existing activity (for by our hypothesis 
there is no other existence of any kind but the one active 
being, the want, and the knowledge), the act must be 
wholly its act ; and, there being no other power, it 
must act without restraint or constraint, it must act 
freely. Under our theory of instinctive action, the 
knowledge being reduced to the least quantity with 
which will is compatible, the spheres of freedom and 



INSTINCT AND HABIT. 105 

of will there reach their least assignable limits, but are 
still coexistent ; and, like the decreasing quantities of 
the differential calculus, retain their relations to each 
other, even in their infinitesimal forms ; and when free- 
dom vanishes, the will of necessity vanishes also ; and 
this occurs when the knowledge of the future is reduced 
to zero, admitting of no preconception of any change to 
be willed, or made the object of effort. It will be ob- 
served, then, that the only essential difference between 
the ohserw able phenomena of mechanical and of instinct- 
ive action, arises from the incorporation into a vital be- 
ing of one iota of knowledge, — the knowledge of one 
means corresponding to one want. Without this, even 
if a being had sensation and memory, its instinctive 
movements must be produced without any effort of its 
own by some external power ; and, whether the subject 
thus moved be that of being with spirit, bones and 
muscles, or that of stars and planets, such movements 
are purely mechanical. Tlie proximity of the two, sep- 
arated only by this single step, has caused confusion in 
regard to them, and led some to doubt, whether what 
we class as instinctive actions are not, really, mechanic- 
al. And it seems quite conceivable that the first instinct- 
ive movements, as, for instance, that of the infant in 
obtaining food, are not preceded by any act of its will, 
but that all the movements of its muscles to that end 
are as immediately produced by the Supreme Intelli- 
gence, without the action, prior or present, of the in- 
fant's own will, as are the beginning of movements in 
lifeless matters ; that these first motions of the infant 
may be but God's teaching ; his mode of practically 
and directly imparting the knowledge, which is essen- 
tial to its existence, till, by imitation, or other means, 



106 FRhEDOM OF MIND IJST WILLING. 

it learns to evoke, or to invoke the same effects by its 
own elforts ; as a tutor, with his own hand, sometimes 
guides that of his pupil, to teach him how to write. If 
it has not the knowledge that it can will, and also how 
to will, by intuition, it must, in some way, acquire it 
before it can itself will, either freely or otherwise. It 
seems quite conceivable that this and other intuitive 
knowledge may be thus practically taught us, and es- 
pecially in regard to our bodily movements ; and yet, 
on closer examination, we may find that this is jpraxiti- 
cally impossible^ and that such knowledge must be 
taught, or must consist in an idea^ or conception of the 
mode directly im/parted as such^ and not derived from 
the observation of external movements of our own 
bodies, or those of others. The moving of the hand by 
external force is so entirely distinct from the internal 
effort to move it, that the knowledge of the latter could 
no more be obtained from the former, than the idea of 
weight from color. Nor could I ever learn to move 
my hand by will, from seeing another person move his 
hand, — for the process of will by which he does it, is 
not cognizable by the senses through which alone I 
could learn it in observing the external. All that I 
could possibly learn from seeing another person move 
his hand, by will, or from having my own hand moved 
by a force exerted through the will of another, would 
be the velocity and direction of its movements, and not 
the process of will by which it was so moved. Still 
less could I get this idea of movement by will, irom any 
movement of my hand by an external force, which I 
did not refer to any act of will whatever. Nor can the 
mind first get this idea by the application of its reason 
to such external phenomena ; for no one has ever yet 



TNSTINCT AND HABIT. 107 

discovered any rational connection between the effort 
and the movement. 

The mind, then, does not get this knowledge of 
mnscnlar movement at will, by observation, and must 
get it by intuition ; and by it we know only the fact 
without any rationale of it. It must be an ultimate 
idea directly imparted to us, and we may, with the first 
want of muscular action, be supposed to know the mode 
as well as at any subsequent recurrence of such want. 
There is nothing gained by supposing the first muscular 
movement to be mechanical, or the effect of external 
power. The facts in regard to a want which comes into 
existence after we have become capable of observing, 
confirm the conclusion that such knowledge is direct- 
ly imparted to us, and that all that is voluntary in sub- 
sequent action, is voluntary in the first instance ; that 
it is our effort, and is not the direct eff'eet of the exter- 
nal power which imparts this knowledge. The change 
in our knowledge is only a reason for changing our own 
efiPorts. 

By the same mode of reasoning it may be shown, 
that we must also intuitively know the mode of putting 
our mental faculties in action ; and as every effort we 
make is, in the first instance, to affect some portion of 
either our body or mind, we are justified in regarding 
all these early actions, which we term instinctive, as 
the consequence of the effort of the being to gratify its 
want by a mode intuitively known to it; and with a 
preconception, at least, of the proximate elfects of that 
effort ; and hence, as really voluntary and not mere 
mechanical acts, from which, indeed, they are sufficient- 
ly distinguished by the existence of the effort and its 
prerequisites, want and knowledge. 



108 FREEDOM OF MIND IN WILLING. 

If there are any such movements of the body pro- 
duced bj external power, as have just been mentioned 
as conceivable, thej are as purely mechanical as those 
of inert substance. 

In nature, when God works out his own plan, the 
action is called mechanical. When he imparts the 
knowledge of a plan to a finite being that works it out, 
the action of this being is instinctive. 

The uniformity and symmetry which we see in crys- 
tals, are God's perfect work, and rank with the mechan- 
ical. The bee, in forming its cells, though it executes 
with less nicety and precision, works from a plan equal- 
ly uniform and equally symmetrical, which God has 
furnished to it, and its action is instinctive. It knows 
the plan, but probably does not know why it is prefer- 
able to others. Some of its advantages were unknown, 
even to scientific men, until revealed by the application 
of the differential calculus. 

We have, then, incorpoi-ated in our beings, in the 
first instance, the power to will ; the want, which re- 
quires the exei'cise of that power ; and the knowledge 
which is requisite to its early and very limited exer- 
cise ; also the knowledge that by will we can put in 
exercise those mental faculties by which m'c may come 
to more perfect knowledge, which sometimes itself 
gratifies the want and at others reveals the action appo- 
site to the want. We also thns have the knowledge of 
the first step into the external by muscular action. 

The power to will, a want, and corresponding knowl- 
edge of means to gratify it, are constitutional elements 
of every creatui-e that wills ; and such creature can at 
once will, and will freely, because it is constitutionally 
such a creature as it is. 



INSTINCT AND HABIT. 109 

Instinct may teach the infant only sufficient to en- 
able it to come within the reach of easy effort to accom- 
plish its object; and this may be designed to induct it 
into a habit of making effort, thus subserving a double 
purpose. If this be so, it will not materially vary the 
previous results. 

The instinctive actions, then, being voluntary, in 
what respect do they differ from other acts of will? 
The whole phenomena of most voluntary actions, as ob- 
served in the adult man, are embodied in the want, the 
knowledge, including the preconception of the future, 
the deliberation, the volition, and the effect. The dis- 
tinction we are seeking is not in the faculty of will it- 
self; we have not two wills. It is not in the want, for 
the same want may often be equally gratified by the 
instinctive, or by other modes. It cannot be in the vo- 
lition, for the same volition may arise in instinctive, as 
in other modes. It must then be in one or both of 
the other two elements— deliberation and knowledge, 
that is, in knowledge itself, or in the mode of obtain- 
ing, or of applying it. Now, one of the most obvious 
peculiarities of instinctive action is the absence of de- 
liberation, or of any exercise of the judgment, or ra- 
tional faculties, in devising or selecting means ; and 
this condition of absence, as we have just shown, can be 
perfect only when the knowledge of the mode of action 
is intuitive. 

In further confirmation of this we may remark that 
if, on any particular occasion for action, we have not 
the requisite knowledge, we must, in some way, acquire 
it ; and in its acquisition, or in its application, or in 
both, must use our rational faculties.* We have also 

* See Appendix, Note -IX. 



110 FREEDOM or MIND IN WILLING. 

shown, that the mode of producing bodily movements 
by will, must be intuitively known ; and that this 
knowledge is simply of the fact, without any such ra- 
tionale of it as will enable us to vary the mode by any 
mental process. We know but one mode, and this 
knowledge is intuitive. In the first applications of this 
knowledge, we do not know that there may be some 
reason for not making the movement, and such action 
then is purely instinctive. As, in our efforts to produce 
external changes, we always begin with bodily move- 
ments, they form the substratum of our plans of action 
for such changes. In these plans we subsequently learn 
rationally to combine muscular movements to produce 
desired results, for which our intuitive knowledge is 
insufficient. Our plan may embrace certain particular 
movements, the order of which we arrange ; but we do 
not attempt to arrange, or plan the mode of producing 
these particular movements. When, subsequently, we 
have learned to look about us to see if there is sufficient 
reason for not making the contemplated movement, and 
have decided that there is not, we are in the same con- 
dition as if we had no knowledge, no thought, that there 
might possibly be such reason. In the last analysis, the 
bodily movement itself is always instinctive ; there is 
no plan, no deliberation, no exercise of judgment, as to 
the mode of making it ; but only as to the particular 
movements, or series of movements, to be effected by 
the known mode ; and the intuitive knowledge that by 
will we can produce muscular movement, is the starting 
point of all our efforts for external changes. 

From this one common point both instinctive and 
rational actions take their departure. In the instinct- 
ive, the plan of action, or the successive order of the 



INSTINCT AND HABIT, 111 

series of volitions required to produce tlie intended re- 
suit is also intuitively known, is so imparted, either 
mediately or immediately, tliat it is the same as if in- 
corporated in tlie being, and requires no rational process 
to ascertain it. The whole plan may be known at once, 
or only each step, singly, as it is reached. In either 
case it still requires the exercise of the will to act out 
the plan thus furnished to it, without which the knowl- 
edge even of the whole plan, though associated with a 
want demanding its execution, would not avail. 

The kid, the moment it is born, can rise upon its 
feet and go directly to the food its mother supplies. It 
must not only know that by volition it can produce 
muscular movement, but it must know what particular 
movements to make, and the order of their succession. 
It works from a plan furnished to it, and not designed 
or contrived by itself. As, by its Mall, it still produces 
effects in the future, it is creative, but in an inferior de- 
gree. It creates, as the most untaught laborer, who re- 
moves the earth from the bed of a canal, has an agency 
in creating the canal, though he acts only under the di- 
rection of the superior intelligence, which designed and 
comprehends the whole structure. The inferior free 
agent, while executing all within its own sphere of ac- 
tion, — all the plan which itself for 7ns, or apprehends-^ 
may subserve the purposes of a superior intelligence 
and help to execute its higher designs. But the intui- 
tive knowledge of a mode of producing bodily move- 
ment, except when mere bodily movement is itself the 
primary want, would answer no purpose unless the 
knowledge of the particular bodily movement, or series 
of movements, required to reach the end, is superadded. 
If this is intuitive also, requiring no exercise of the ra- 



112 FREEDOM OF MIND IN WILLING. 

tional faculties, no deliberation as to the plan, or order 
of successive efforts, then the action, or series of actions, 
is purely instinctive. But to shnt out all ground, for 
the exercise of the rational faculties, there must, as be- 
fore stated, be only one want, one known mode of grat- 
ifying it, and no knowledge or thought that it may pos- 
sibly be better not to gratify it. 

If we. suppose an intuitive knowledge of two or 
more modes of gratifying the same want, or that there 
are conflicting wants^ we have a case for the exercise of 
the judgment. In the former of these cases, the mind 
may be said to be confined to the two or more modes. 
It has not designed or planned either of them ; but it 
may design and plan, and must decide as between 
them; and then the subsequent action becomes, so far, a 
lational one; and, if the decision is not immediately 
obvious to the knowing sense, deliberation — effort to 
examine and obtain more knowledge — with consequent 
delay, becomes an element in the mental process of de- 
termining the final efl'ort. The same is obvious in the 
case of conflicting wants ; and we may remark that any 
indisposition to the efibrt, or a disposition to be passive 
and inert is a conflicting want. 

When the plan of action was before unknown, and 
yet is obvious to simple mental perception, without pre- 
liminary effort to acquire it, the case approaches very 
nearly to that of action from a plan intuitively known, 
if, indeed, it can be practically distinguished from it. 

Another easy divergence, from the purely instinct- 
ive, seems to be that in which the knowledge of the 
required change, or series of changes, instead of being 
intuitive, is derived from the simple observation of such 
external chanares, or movements as we can see others 



INSTINCT AND HABIT. 113 

make, requiring only to be imitated. This differs from 
the intuitive, in requiring an effort of attention to ob- 
serve tlie movements or their successive order ; and an 
exercise of the rational faculty to infer, that as we 
have the power to move our muscles, we may there- 
fore be able to make similar movements, and that they 
will lead to similar results. We might thus learn to 
apply our knowledge of muscular movement by will ; 
though, as already shown, we never could acquire this 
knowledge by merely observing others. 

As distinguishing features of instinctive action, we 
have, then, the absence of any plan, design, or contri- 
vance, on the part of the active heing^ to attain its end ; 
and, in place of such contrivance of its own, the knowl- 
edge of a plan directly imparted to it, ready made, re- 
quiring no contrivance of its own, and no deliberation. 

The circumstances under which such actions are 
most conspicuous, perhaps the only cases of purely in- 
stinctive action in human beings, occur in the infant, 
when its whole attention is absorbed by the want of the 
moment, when its knowledge is limited to its intuitive 
perception of only one mode of gratifying that want, 
and it has yet no thought tliat it may be better not to 
gratify it. In brutes it continues more prominent, be- 
cause they learn less of other than the intuitive modes. 
It seems, too, not improbable that, with the deficient 
ability to plan rational modes of action, the necessities of 
existence may require an increase of the intuitive modes ; 
but if our distinction is welJ founded, we cannot deny 
rational actions to most of the inferior animals, or even 
that a large portion of their actions are of this class, 
though more alloyed with the instinctive, than those of 
man. The hungry dog, acting instinctively, would not 



114 FRERDOM OF MIND IN WILLING. 

hesitate to seize tlie joint of meat he sees before him in 
his master's kitcheii ; but he learns that, in the presence 
of the cook, the effort to get it maj be unsuecessfnl, or 
be attended with unpleasant consequences, and he gov- 
erns himself in conformity to this acquired knowledge, 
including his consequent preconceptions of future effects, 
and foregoes the effort to appropriate the meat. If, in 
view of the circumstances, he plans to wait the absence 
of, or in some way to induce the cook to let him have 
the meat, he exhibits still more of rational design than 
by temple forbearance. Though instinctive action is 
thus less conspicuous, as the acquired knowledge in- 
creases, it is conceivable that a being with any amount 
of such acquirement may act without using it to contrive 
means, and may wholly disi-egard any plan it may have 
previously contrived for similar occasions. In man, a 
want may be so imperative or so absorbing as to ex- 
clude all others ; and also all comparison of the differ- 
ent modes of gratifying it ; and all deliberation as to 
whether to gratify it or not ; and, in such cases, he acts 
as a being having only one want, one means of gratify- 
ing it, and no knowledge or thought that it may be bet- 
ter not to gratify it ; if the one known means has to be 
found, the action is a rational one ; but if it is intui- 
tively known, all the conditions of purely instinctive 
action are fulfilled. Cases in which our rational actions 
thus approximate more or less nearly to the instinctive, 
occur when we are under the influence of some absorb- 
ing passion, as, for instance, of fear excited to tei'ror, in 
sudden fright, and we yield to the impulse to flee from 
whatever has terrified us. If, in so doing, the mode is 
immediately perceived, or if it is a i-esult of our own 
efforts in searching out and designing a plan of action, 



mSTIXCT AND HABIT. 115 

but, under tlie excitement, so instantaneously formed 
and applied that the element of deliberation is very 
minute, the action will be liable to be confounded 
with the instinctive, though properly belonging to the 
rational. 

That we flee from danger, and not toward it, indi- 
cates the formation of a jplan of ^aWoxi. founded on our 
perception of the circumstances. We may intuitively 
know that to avoid being burned we must move from 
the fire, and how to so move ; but we must still per- 
ceive — know — where the fire is, and the combination 
of the two knowledges may be by a rational process. 
In other words, the knowledge of the general facts may 
be intuitive, and their application to particular cases ra- 
tional. In running from a fire, we may fall down a 
precipice of which we well knew, but did not take time 
to embrace the knowledge in our deliberation, or use it 
in the preconception of the effects of our action.* When 
we are conscious of forming the plan of action at the 
moment, ho^^^ever quickly, we are in no danger of con- 
founding it with the instinctive. The distinction, how- 
ever, is practically not always obvious, and especially 
in those cases in which the plan of action is easily and 
quickly formed. The movement of the jaw, to relieve 
the pain occasioned by -the pressure of a person's own 
teeth on his finger, would, no doubt, be deemed by 
some an instinctive action ; but there have been cases 
of idiots who did not know enough to do this, though 
they had all the intuitive knowledge requisite to make 
the movement, as evinced by their voluntarily making 
it whenever they ate ; showing that, at least in them, 
an inference from the peculiar circumstances of the case 
* See Appendix, Note XXI. 



116 FREEDOM OF MIND IN WILLING. 

— more knowledge — was required to enable them to 
apjply their intuitive knowledge of tlie mode of moving 
the jaw, in such way as would relieve the pain of the 
linger. It may be as difficult for such an idiot to form 
a plan for extricating his finger, as for a horse to plan 
to extricate liis foot when it gets entangled in the hal- 
ter. The pain being in his finger, he, not improbably, 
seeks to move and thus to effect change in it, as the 
horse pulls on his entangled foot for relief; in both 
cases, from not knowing jp^ans adapted to the circam- 
stances^ aggravating the difficulty. In such persons, the 
intuitive knowledge may be less than in some others ; 
but i\ie particular point at which the intuitive must be 
aided by the acquired, is not material to the illustrar 
tion.* 

Though, in terms, the rational may be clearly de- 
fined by the formation of a plan of action by the active 
being ; and the instinctive, by the plan of action being 
furnished to it by intuition, ready formed ; yet prac- 
tically we do not always readily perceive the exact 
boundary between them.f They are often blended, 
and perhaps the rational always embraces something of 
the instinctive. We may rationally plan a series of suc- 
cessive musculai' movements in a certain order, but, as 
before stated, the mode of making each of the move- 
ments by will is always instinctive. The same rule will 
also apply to the use of our mental powers by a j^re^ 
arranged plan. 

The mode in which the knowledge of a plan of ac- 
tion is acquired does not affect the action itself. Once 
acquired, whether by the teachings of the Infinite, oi- of 
a fi.nite intelligence, or by our own rational investiga- 

* See Appendix, Note XXII. f See Appendix, .Note XXIU. 



INSTINCT AND HABIT. 117 

tioii, or by simple perception, tlie acting from it is tlie 
same ; and, having memory, we can repeat or reenact 
the same, by mere association with onr wants knowing 
when to repeat it. The instinctive and the rational 
both admit of being thus repeated by memory and 
mere imitation, though neither memory nor imitation 
could have had any part in our iirst instinctive actions, 
for there were then no' actions to remember or to imi- 
tate ; and when ever the young intelligence begins to 
work by memory of a plan adopted in previous acts, 
instead of one known by a direct intuition applicable to 
the case, it begins to be the subject of habit. The same 
of those actions which we have ourselves designed, how- 
ever complicated, however much contrivance and inge- 
nuity they may have originally required, when, after 
frequent repetition, we perforin them in proper order 
by memory instead of by a reference to the original 
reasons of that order, they, too, have become habitual. 
The peculiar characteristic of habit seems to be that 
we become so familiar with the plan by which the de- 
sired result is to be reached, that, at every stage of it, 
we know what to do from what has already been done, 
and do not have to form a preconception of the future, 
or, at most, not more of it than the next immediate act, 
or even recur to any preconception previously formed 
of it ; we do not have to perceive the connection of the 
immediate act contemplated with the end sought. "We 
may merely recollect that, on previous like occasions, 
we did thus or so with satisfactory results ; and that, 
after such an act, such another act immediately follows. 
We do it by rote. Suppose a man, who is accustomed 
to walk in a certain path from one place to another, 
wishes to go to some other place, requiring him to di- 



118 FREEDOM OF MIND IN "WILLING. 

verge from tlie familiar teack. If, on reaching the 
point of divergence, he fails to look at the portion of 
his plan, which is jet in the future, but, as on former 
occasions, directs himself in each successive act by refer- 
ence to the preceding one, or by mere association with 
it, he will take the old path, and will not discover his 
mistake until he looks to the future and refers to his 
preconception of the result intended, and of the means of 
attaining it. This habitually pursuing an old plan when 
a new one had been designed, is matter of common ex- 
perience. As a consequence of this working from mem- 
ory of an old plan, instead of one newly formed for the 
occasion, there is in habitual action little, if any, need of 
deliberation, or for the exercise of the rational faculties. 
As, in the case of instinctive action, there is also in the 
habitual, a plan ready formed in the mind, and though 
it may be there, by our own previous efforts, instead 
of by intuition, it subserves much the same purpose. 
Perhaps the only essential difi'erence is, that the intui- 
tive knowledge may embrace that of the occasions for 
adopting the particular plan ; and in adopting our own 
previously formed plans, we have always to determine 
by an exercise of judgment the proper occasions for 
their application. This, however, as already suggested, 
may sometimes be necessary also in regard to the appli- 
cation of a mode, or a series of actions intuitively known 
as the means of reaching an end ; and in the habitual, 
after we have decided to adopt the mode, or series, we 
pursue it without further deliberation, or exercise of the 
judgment in going through the successive steps. Again, 
as before observed, the occasion upon which to use a 
known plan, either intuitive or acquired, may be sug- 
gested by its mere association with recurring circum- 



INSTINCT AND HABIT. 119 

stances, and, if that examination of our knowledge, 
which results in a judgment, is an element of associa- 
tion, such examination, or exercise of the rational facul- 
ties in comparing and judging is often so slight, or so 
instantaneous as to be almost unnoticeable. We ob- 
serve, then, how nearly habitual action brings us back 
from the rational to the instinctive ; and in this we may 
find the significance of the common saying that " habit 
is second nature." The instinctive also resembles the 
habitual in this, that it is not essential in either that we 
should ever know, at one time, any more of the plan 
than the connection between the action just done and 
the one next in order. The bee, when it has construct- 
ed one side and one angle of its cell, need not knuw that 
it will require five more such sides and angles to com- 
plete it. The most that is essential to its subsequent ac- 
tion is the knowledge that the next step is to make an- 
other like side and angle ; and so in the habitual, all 
that is requisite is the recollection of what action comes 
next, and then again the next. 

We find another similarity in the fact that, in re- 
sorting to an habitual mode, even though originally ac- 
quired, and especially if then adopted after full deliber- 
ation, the mind may again use it, as if it were the < nly 
one possible; just, as in the first instinctive action, it 
adopts the one and only known mode, which it has by 
intuition. With these points in common, the instinctive 
may glide easily into the habitual. By repetition in 
practice, the memory of the consecutive order of the ac- 
tions may take the place of the direct knowledge of that 
order.* 

Though more unlike, rational actions become habit- 
* See Appendix, Note XXIV. 



120 FREEDOM OF MIND IN WILLING. 

ual by tlie same process — by the repetition, on like oc- 
casions, of the series of efforts embracing the phm of ac- 
tion, till we distinctly remember the routine of the suc- 
cessive efforts, and can go over them in the same order, 
without reference to the end or the reason of such or- 
der. In the habitual, as already intimated, the mind 
may determine each successive action, not by its per- 
ception of its connection with the future,- but by associa- 
tion with that which is past ; and this analogy of such 
actions to the movement of a material body by a force 
behind it, without itself perceiving its course in the fu- 
ture, has probably favored the popular application of 
the term mechanical to habitual actions, which was 
naturally enough suggested by the comparatively small 
amount of mental efibrt they require. 

It is obvious that a very large proportion of the ac- 
tions of adults are habitual, and that our rational ac- 
tions, in becoming habitual, approach so nearly to in- 
stinctive, is probably one cause of that difficulty in 
distinguishing the instinctive from the rational, which 
is so general ; a difficulty which may be further in- 
creased by the instinctive also actually becoming habit- 
ual, the two thus blending together and becoming un- 
distinguishable in one common reservoir, from which 
the main current of our actions subsequently flows, and 
through which it is often difficult to trace their respect- 
ive sources. 

Customary or imitative actions also belong to this 
group. When we do anything merely because it is 
customary, we adopt the plans or modes of action 
which we have seen others adopt, without ourselves 
contri-S'ing, and sometimes without even perceiving the 
reason why others have adopted tliem. In regard to in- 



INSTINCT AND HABIT. 121 

still ctive, habitual, and customary actions, the question 
may arise whether it may or may not be better to class 
those in which we perceive the reason of the plan at 
the time of action, with the rational actions. There is 
evidently, in this, a distinction for which philosophical 
accuracy requires a corresponding difference in ex- 
pression. 

To recapitulate ; mechanical action, or material 
movements and changes, are either God's action, imme- 
diate or mediate, upon his own plan — a part of his 
rational actions ; or, as seems to be conceivable and 
more in conformity to the popular idea, the necessary 
consequences of blind causes, as of matter in motion, 
which can have no plan. 

Instinctive actions are the efforts of a finite intelli- 
gent being, conformed by its intelligence to the plan 
which God has furnished, or furnishes to it, ready 
formed. 

Rational actions are the efforts of an intelligent 
being, finite or infinite, in conformity with a plan, 
which itself has contrived, by means of those faculties, 
which make a part of the constitution of its being, de- 
rived or underived. 

Customary or imitative action is the action of a 
finite being in conformity to a plan which it has derived 
from its observation of the action of others. 

Habitual action is the action of a finite, intelligent 
being, in conformity to a plan which it has in its mind, 
ready formed, with which practice has made it so 
familiar, that each successive step is associated with, 
and is suggested by those which precede it, requiring 
no examination as to its influence, or its connection 
with the desired end, or effect in the future ; whether 
6 



122 FEEEDOM OF MIND IN WILLING. 

that plan was originally instinctive, rational, or cus- 
tom arj. 

In regard to habit, I would farther remark that it 
has, in some respects, the same relation to action, that 
memory has to knowledge. They are both retaining 
powers. As memory of the results of former investiga- 
tions, or of former observation, obviates the necessity 
of repeated investigation or observation to enable us to 
know, so habit obviates the necessity of examining as 
to the probable result of the dijS'erent proposed actSs or 
of repeating the experiments required in the first action, 
and which, with the caution then requisite, rendered it 
slow and tedious, compared with the facility acquired 
after practice has made us familiar with the order of 
the successive efforts, and rendered us fearless of any 
latent consequences, the apprehensions of which, in the 
first instance, would induce careful examination of our 
preconceptions of the future effects. Habit seems to be 
mainly dependent on memory and association. The first 
time certain circumstances occur, if we have not the 
knowledge of the mode of action intuitively, we have 
to examine, compare, judge, and perhaps resort to ex- 
periments as to how we shall act ; when they recur, we 
may adopt the former modes implicitly, if the result 
was then satisfactory, or with such modifications as ex- 
perience may suggest ; and repeat the experiments, 
with variations, till we have got what we deem the 
best. When, from the plan adopted on a former occa- 
sion, gratification has resulted, a recurrence of similar 
circumstances suggests, by association, the want of like 
gratification. This want is also intensified, not only by 
the recollection of the former pleasure, but the mind, 
being relieved from the labor of a particular examina- 



INSTINCT AND HABIT. 123 

tion of tlie means and of devising a plan ; and also 
from apprehension as to nnseen consequences, wliich 
rendered circumspection necessary in tlie first instance, 
may direct its attention to tlie expected gratification, 
and be almost exclusively absorbed by it.* In regard 
to any action requiring several successive eflforts, as, for 
instance, walking, a man with fall strength, unless 
knowing by intuition not only the mode of making the 
particular muscular movements, but their proper respect- 
ive order and force, would, probably, in a first eff'ort 
to walk, have to proceed very slowly, giving a con- 
scious, attentive, tentative effort to each movement, 
and perhaps then not always succeed in practically 
doing as he desired ; but, by repeated experiments, he 
learns the proper order and degree of the movements, 
and by repetition becomes able to make them without 
any conscious thought as to the order, degree, or result, 
each effort suggesting the succeeding one, as a letter of 
the alphabet, after much repetition, suggests the one 
which follows it. If, by memory, we retained the 
knowledge of the letters of the alphabet and of their 
order of succession only long enough for the occasion, 
we should have to relearn, every time we had occasion 
for such knowledge ; and but for the retaining power 
of habit, we should have either to study or experiment 
in regard to every particular act, not instinctive, and as 
to the order of any instinctive series of actions, as often 
as the same might be required to reach the desired re- 
sult. Habit is but a substitution of the memory of for- 
mer results of investigation, and ex]:)erience for present 
investigation and trial ; those former results being sug- 
gested by association with like circumstances. In other 
* See Appendix, Note XXV. 



124 FREEDOM OF MIND IN WILLING. 

words, it is memory, aided by association, and applied 
to actions, when like occasions for them recur. In 
cases to which it is applicable, habit thus relieves the 
mind of nearly all the mental labor requisite to action — 
that of investigating the circumstances and forming its 
creative preconceptions in the future, and thus facili- 
tates our advancement in action ; making it easy for us 
to do that which we are accustomed to do, whether 
right or wrong. 

While habit thus facilitates effort, it also enables us 
readily to select from among passing occurrences those 
which require attention or effort, and to dismiss others 
almost without notice. When we have no special occa- 
sion to know the hour, the striking of a clock, which is 
constantly repeated within our hearing, makes so little 
impression, that it is not recollected a moment after- 
wards. We know from repeated observation that we 
need not attend to it. It awakens no interest, no want, 
in us. Ask a man who has just looked at his watch, for 
the time, and, in a majority of cases, he cannot tell you. 
He liahitually saw the time, as indicated on the dial 
plate, and inferred that the hour of his engagement had 
not yet arrived, or found that it suggested nothing to 
be done, and immediately dismissed the whole mat- 
ter. He can give no account of what passed in his 
mind. Perhaps a little more of memory of the pro- 
cess so instantaneous would reveal to him that he 
merely saw that a certain hour had not arrived, rather 
than what the present time was. The want for which 
lie made the effort to look at his watch was satisfied by 
the former, and he had no interest to know or to retain 
the latter. 

That habit especially applies to those actions which 



I'NSTINCT AND HABIT. 125 

we have most frequent occasion to perform, increases 
the benefits we derive from it. It seems, however, to 
be frequently regarded as a vicious element of mind. 
This, probably, often arises from only looking at its 
power to perpetuate or facilitate actions which are 
wrong, overlooking its influence on those which are 
right, and may be confirmed by the further considera- 
tion, that retaining the old habit enables us to dispense 
with new acquisitions and with new eflbits, thus foster- 
ing indolence ; and that which legitimately furnishes 
the great means of progress in action, thus perverted, 
enables a man to forego the efforts, which are the very 
germs of this progress. He has become familiar with 
one course of action — Tiahit has made it easy to him ; it 
no longer requires the examination, the experimental 
efforts, the circumspection, which are necessary to learn 
and apply new methods. He has also learned the grati- 
fication arising from the habitual course, and does not 
know, and does not seek to know, that by pursuing a 
different course he may obtain a higher, more perma- 
nent, or more unalloyed gratification, or, at least, has 
not so brought the knowledge home to his affections, 
and into such practical form, as to induce a want for 
such higher gratification. Being slothful, the higher 
and higher wants, which with efforts for progress are 
continually evolved in the mind, are undeveloped, and 
remain in their original chaotic state, witliout the 
sphere of his efforts, in a region which he has never at- 
tempted to penetrate, and, by the exercise of his crea- 
tive powers, to reduce to order. 



CHAPTER XII. 

ILLUSTRATION F K O M CHESS. 

As a partial illustration of some of the foregoing 
views, let us suppose two persons, A and B, to be en- 
gaged in playing chess ; and as there is no conceivable 
necessity for swpposing any other intelligence to do, or 
to have done, anything in relation to the game, we 
may, so far as the players and their efforts are con- 
cerned, assume that none others exist. The players 
have no intuitions of the game ; but the knowledge of 
its laws, indicating what moves can and what cannot 
be made, having been taught them by others, without 
any contrivance of their own, is somewhat analogous to 
that intuitive knowledge which is the foundation of our 
early actions ; and the unreflecting spontaneity with 
which a young player avails himself of an opportunity 
to take a valuable piece, without reference to future 
consequences, has some resemblance to instinctive, un- 
dellberative action. The first move to be made by A 
is, so far as the position of the pieces is concerned, to 
be made under precisely the same circumstances as has 
been every other first move, which he has ever made, 
and he may now make liis habitual move without rein- 
vestigation, and each player continues to do this until 
the combinations become such that past experience can 
no longer avail. Or either may try an entirely new 



ILLUSTRATION FROM CHESS. 127 

first or ^subsequent move, and test its advantages. In 
any case, however, botli the players soon come to new 
or unremembered combinations. A lias just moved, 
and may be supposed to be passively waiting the move 
of B, who is now the only active intelligence, and is to 
will his next move in view of the new circumstances 
which the last move of A has presented, and which cir- 
cumstances cannot now be changed until after himself 
wills and makes his move. His primary want is to 
checkmate his opponent ; but, in view of the circum- 
stances^ he knows that, in conformity with the laws of 
the game, he cannot gratify this want by any move 
now possible. He then wants to make the move which 
will most tend to checkmate. This secondary want in- 
duces him to make an effort to ascertain what move 
will best fulfil this condition. He examines, he delib- 
erates — that is, he makes an effort to obtain more 
knowledge, with which to direct his final effort, or 
move ; and then, by means of his knowledge of the 
present position of the pieces, and his power of forming 
an idea of the future, including his conjectures of the 
subsequent move of his opponent, he compares his pre- 
conceptions of the possible or probal)le result of various 
moves ; and having, by that use of his knowledge which 
results in a judgment, selected among them, wills, or 
puts forth the final effb)-t in conformity to that judg- 
ment. He does not fully examine all the possible re- 
sults of every possible move. This would make the 
game insufi'erably tedious, indeed, impossible to be 
played in a lifetime ; but the time he will give to de- 
liberating is also a matter for him to judge of, or decide 
by his knowing faculty ; and, in fact, he often moves 
with a consciousness that his examination is very im- 



128 FEEEDOM OF MIND IK WILLING. 

perfect. Of two or more moves, he may not have de- 
cided wliich is best ; but, the fact is, he does decide to 
adopt one, and as, by the liyj^othesis, there is no other 
existing intelligent activity to decide for him, he must, 
in such case, himself decide which to adopt. So far as 
his present volition and act are concerned, it is the 
same as if he had never before willed or acted. That 
he has contributed, by his previous moves, to make the 
circumstances as they are, does not now affect the con- 
siderations by which his present move is to be deter- 
mined. For the purposes of this action, he begins with 
the circumstances as they now are, and is precisely in 
the same situation as if he found the game in that con- 
dition and was (being already possessed of the same 
knowledge of the past and present, and with the same 
power of anticipating the future) to move for the first 
time. Every time he wills, or puts forth an effort, 
making or planning a move, is a new and distinct exer- 
cise of his creative energy ; and the effect is a new crea- 
tion, evolved from the new circumstances, sometimes 
getting existence only in the conception of his own 
mind, and sometimes actualized, or made palpable to 
others, in the altered position of the piece moved. 

We might suppose a more complicated game, in 
which several persons moved at the same time on one 
side, each having to take into account not only the 
probable future moves of the several opponents, but, 
also, the simultaneous moves of his several coadjutors ; 
and this would more nearly resemble the complicated 
game of real life. But though, in real life, many may 
move at once, yet, to each individual, certain circum- 
stances are presented for him to act upon at the mo- 
ment of willing ; and whether, at that moment, these 



ILLLSTEATION FEOM CHESS. 121) 

circumstances are iixed, or are still flowing by tlie in- 
fluence of some otlier intelligence or force, is but a cir- 
cumstance to be taken into view in willing, as also the 
anticipated future action of other intelligences ; as the 
future possible or probable moves of one party at chess 
are taken into account by the other in determining his 
own move. If we look for the cause of the move, we 
refer it immediately to the will of the mover ; and if 
we seek the reason why he willed this and not some 
other move, we may, in most cases, by making such an 
examination of the circumstances as we suppose he 
made prior to moving, form a conjecture, in some cases 
amounting almost to certainty, in others only to the 
smallest degree of probability ; while, in some instances, 
we may fail to discover a probable or even a supposable 
reason. The same thing occurs in real life, showing 
that we diff'er in our knowledge, or come to difierent 
conclusions from the same premises. One man may 
better understand the game of life, or see farther or 
more clearly into the future, than another. Some can 
successfully compete with several skilful chess players, 
or can ably direct several distinct games at once ; and 
so some men are a match for many others in some of 
the rivalries of active life, and accomplish their ends in 
competition with numerous opponents. In a game of 
diplomacy, a Talleyrand or Metternich would succeed 
against most men, many men combined, or in separate 
games with each at the same time. And a Being of in- 
finite power and wisdom would accomplish His pur- 
poses, though opposed by any number of finite intelli- 
gences, all exerting their finite power as freely as He 
His infinite. 

To one uninstructed, the chess board with a game 



130 FREEDOM OF MIND IN AVILLING. 

partly played out, would appear a mere confusion, 
without any more arrangement than a child discovers 
in the position of the stars ; and the moves would seem 
to him as arbitrary and erratic as the motions of planets 
and. comets did to tlie early pastoral astronomers ; but 
on ascertaining and applying the laws of the game, the 
element of design immediately appears, and an harmo- 
nious system is evolved from the apparent chaos. It 
is a creation — a very tiny creation — in which the finite 
intelligence has as freely exerted its creative power in 
devising and assigning the laws of the movements of 
the game, and in moving the pieces in conformity to 
those laws, as the Supreme Intelligence exerts its in- 
finite power in making laws and moving the universe 
in conformity with them. The inventor of the game 
has, in fact, created another sphere for the exercise of 
human activity ; like the great sphere of God's crea- 
tion, conditioned by certain laws, which, for the pur- 
poses of the game, must be regarded as inviolable as if 
decreed by infinite wisdom, and enforced by infinite 
power. It is a sphere in which many of the same pro- 
cesses of mind, which are common in active life, are 
brought into play, and in which are formed habits of 
effort, of deliberation, or the investigation of intricate 
combinations, preparatory to action ; and perseverance 
in effort under circumstances apparently the most hope- 
less ; and in which many of the emotions of real life, as 
hope, fear, despondency, the feeling of disappointment, 
the sense of superiority, the humiliation of defeat, the 
pride of victory, also have place.* 

If we suppose only one intelligent being to be en- 
gaged in the game, with an automaton chess player so 
* See Appendix, Note XXVI. 



ILLUSTRATION FROM CHESS. 131 

contrived that the automatic moves will be in conform- 
ity with the laws of the game, we shall have a case 
analogous to that of the finite intelligence acting with 
reference to the anticipated action of the infinite, uni- 
formly conforming to certain laws, the consequences of 
which can be only partially known, or vaguely antici- 
pated by the finite. But for this uniformity in the Di- 
vine action, our position, in the efforts of life, would be- 
that of a person who should attempt to play chess with 
one who was wholly regardless of the laws of the game. 
In such case, all efibrt in investigating, planning, de- 
signing, and moving would be useless ; the game would 
be impossible. And so in the ajQPairs of real life ; but 
for the recognized uniformity in the action of the Su- 
preme Intelligence, there would be no reason or ground 
for the efforts of finite free agents. 

In chess it often happens that, in conformity with 
the rules, only one move is possible ; for instance, when 
the king must be put out of check, and there is only 
one move by which it can be done. This resembles 
some cases of supposed necessity in the voluntary efforts 
of real life. By the laws of the game, the player is con- 
fined to one move, and has no liberty to will auy other. 
But there is no conceivable case in which the mind is, 
or can be, compelled to will at all, and this apparent 
want of liberty or analogy to it, in chess, is merely an 
inability in the agent to conform to laws which he has- 
voluntarily adopted for his own government, and, at 
the same time, not to conform to them ; w^hich, so far 
from detracting from a man's freedom in determining 
his own volitions, is essential to it ; for if, at the same 
moment that he either decided or willed to conform, he 
could also decide, or will, not to conform, and the two 



132 FEKEDOM OF MIND IN WILLING. 

mental efforts were to go forth simultaneously, bis 
power would be completely neutralized. It is a mere 
inability to work contradictions, and cannot even be re- 
garded as a deficiency of ])ower^ for no increase of pow- 
er tends to give sucb ability. In the case supposed, the 
effort of the player to make a particular move is made 
to depend on his knowledge of the laws of the game, 
and any other knowledge which may lead him to want 
to conform to them ; and such government of himself 
to gratify this want, by the aid of any knowledge he 
may have, does not make a case varying from those 
which we have before considered. The laws of the 
game are certainly not more obligatory upon him than 
the just demands of his country, or the laws of God, or 
his own convictions of right. In all such cases, the ex- 
istence of such obligation, or of any conclusions, or in- 
ferences from them, are but circumstances to be consid- 
ered by the mind in determining its efforts ; but do not 
affect its freedom in making the efforts, the making, or 
not making of which still depends on itself. 

The memory of the conclusions of former examina- 
tions of the circumstances, of which these laws form a 
portion, may enable a man to dispense with present ex- 
amination, and act from habit. In chess, each player 
tacitly pledges himself to conform to the laws of the 
game ; and a man, on full deliberation, may resolve al- 
ways to conform his efforts to the laws of God, and, in 
both cases, his compliance may become habitual, so 
that he ceases to deliberate, or to form new plans of ac- 
tion, spontaneously adopting the old ; but this substitu- 
tion of the result of a former for a present examination, 
does not conflict with freedom, but is itself an act of 
freedom. If the mind's predetermination to be gov- 



ILLUSTRATION FROM CHESS. 133 

erned by certain laws, or in certain circumstances to 
act in certain uiiiform modes, could be regarded as a 
voluntary curtailment of its liberty, that which was thus 
abandoned could be voluntarily resumed, and the mind, 
by its own act, regain its entire freedom ; but the free- 
dom of the mind is as apparent in the voluntary curtail- 
ment, as in the reextension of its sphere of effort. But, 
in adopting such laws or modes, the mind does not, by 
its free effort, curtail its freedom, but uses its knowl- 
edge of general rules to lessen the delibei-ation required 
in each particular case as it occurs, or to direct its 
efforts in cases for which its knowledge, if it did not 
embrace these laws, or general rules, would be wholly 
inadequate. That God wills to conform His action to 
certain laws or uniform modes, does not impair His 
freedom. 

In regard to the influence of law on individual ac- 
tion or effort, we would remark generally, that matter 
cannot know the law, and, therefore, cannot govern it- 
self by law ; that an intelligent being, knowing the 
law, and not willing to be governed by it does not so 
govern himself; but that, in both instances, the move- 
ments or actions of the matter, or of such non-willing 
being, if made to conform to the law, must be so con- 
formed by some external power, to which the law is a 
rule of action. If the intelligence making or promul- 
gating the law enforces it by an exercise of its own 
power, then the law is only a law to itself, and the will 
of a controlled being has no part in it, and has no more 
to do with the result of a law thus enforced, than a 
heavy stone has to do with the effects of gravitation. 
A law made by one being for the government of an- 
other, and not enforced by direct application of power, 



134 FREKDOM OF MIND IN WILLING. 

must depend for its efficiency upon the will of that 
other. He may will to obey it, because, having exam- 
ined the particular law, he deems it good in itself; or 
because it is dictated by a being in whose wisdom and 
beneficence he confides. In the latter case he adopts 
the rule, because he perceives that it is a particular case 
of a more general rule, on which he has before decided. 
In all cases of government by law, we are influ- 
enced, not by the existence of the law, but by our pre- 
conceptions of the effects of breaking the law, or of con- 
forming to it. It may be that we perceive it will 
grieve or offend one whom we love ; or it may be the 
consideration of more direct personal consequences, dis- 
tinctly and directly apprehended, or inferred from the 
attributes of the law-maker. The knowledge of the law 
is always such an addition to our knowledge as enables 
us better to preconceive the future, and especially in 
regard to what others, in certain contingencies, will do ; 
but, in the mind's application of this knowledge, to de- 
termine its own efforts, there is nothing conflicting with 
its freedom in willing. If it wills in conformity to the 
law, it is just as free as if it wills in opposition to it. 
The word laio^ in such connection, seems to be used in 
two distinct senses ; the one indicating a rule by which 
causes are governed in producing effects ; the other ex- 
pressing a mere uniformity of such effects. But the 
observation of this uniformity of effects is perhaps but 
a mode in which we learn the law of the cause which 
produces them ; as, for instance, by our observation of 
the changes in the material universe, we come to know 
the laws which God has adopted for His own govern- 
ment in producing these changes, and the two senses 
of the term become blended in one. But be this as it 



ILLUSTRATION FKOM CHESS. 135 

may, the knowledge of such laws, whether they are the 
mere uniformity of the effects, or those invariable rules 
or modes which an intelligent cause adopts in produc- 
ing them, enables us better to preconceive the effects 
of our efforts, and, of course, to determine them more 
wisely ; or, at least, more certainly to produce the efl'ect 
intended. 



CHAPTER XIII. 

OP WANT AND EFFORT IN VARIOUS ORDERS OF INTELLIGENCE. 

From the foregoing views it follows that want, often 
regarded as a weakness, or defect, is really requisite to 
all but the lowest forms of animated existence. It is 
necessary to all intelligent activity, and hence, essential 
to all the enjoyment which arises from the exercise of 
our faculties and from that conscious progress, or that 
satisfaction in the performance of duty, which attends 
our proper efforts. It is necessary to elevate us above 
the condition of mere sensitive and sensuous being; 
and, as no intelligent being will make effort to do what 
he does not want to do, it is thus necessary, with a meta- 
physical necessity, which even Omnipotence could not 
obviate. 

If these views are well founded, God Himself can- 
not be active, or make any progress, or produce change 
in anything except by being the subject of want ; and, 
in every order of intelligent being, to want is as essen- 
tial to the exercise of a free creative energy, as to know. 

This imputation of want to the Supreme Being, to 
some may seem irreverent, and especially to those who 
habitually regard it as an imperfection. Let such con- 
sider that we know God onl}^ by the attributes which 
He manifests in action, or by the effects of His action ; 



OF WANT AND EFFORT. 137 

that we cannot conceive of Him as destitute of quali- 
ties ; and that the simplest and most evident affirma- 
tion which we can make, toucliing the exercise of His 
active power, is that He doeth that which He wants 
to do. 

Nothing, bj the mere fact of existence, can be a 
cause of any effect after such existence began ; for all 
the eifects of which its mere existence is the cause 
would take place the instant it came into existence, 
and all its causative power would then be exhausted 
and cease. Tt could produce no further changes even 
in itself; and hence, a sole first cause, without any 
want to excite it to effort, would immediately on com- 
ing into existence, become inert. Such existence, then, 
would not act on anything, but would become mere 
material to be acted upon. 

It is only by the faculty of effort that intelligence 
rises above this condition ; and this faculty, to be avail- 
able for such elevation to us, without direct, extrinsic 
aid, must either be continuous, or we must have a re- 
taining, internal power, with some adaptation to put 
this retained power in action. In mind, one or the 
other of the required conditions is fulfilled by the con- 
stant, or by the recurring influences of want, whicli is 
the only mode kno^vn to us, and perhaps the only one 
which is conceivable, for exciting the voluntary action 
of an intelligent being, and moving it from a quiescent 
state. If we ever become quiescent, we cease to be 
cause, and this want nmst then become manifest by 
some change effected by some active cause without us, 
the effect of which, from the constitution of our being, 
we may recognize without effort of our own ; and the 
fact is, we cannot always prevent such cognition. If 



J38 FREEDOM OF MIND IN WILLING. 

our mental activity ever entii-ely ceases, it must then 
be as if we liad no mind, and w^e must be re-minded 
before we can again become an active cause ; and this, 
as before suggested, may be done by want in us, pro- 
duced by causes to the action of which our own efforts 
are not essential. 

If matter in motion is cause, its power, while it has 
any, is continuous and ready to be exerted whenever 
the occasion for it occurs. Being unintelligent, no ap- 
plication of self-moving power to it is possible ; having 
no mind, it cannot be r«-minded. 

It must be true of every intelligence, of whatever 
order, that if its activity entirely ceases, it cannot, of 
itself, put itself in action, till some extrinsic activity 
has, in some way, acted upon it ; and the only condi- 
tion upon which a sole First Cause could entirely sus- 
pend activity, without annihilation, would be by its 
first creating other cause, which would continue to be 
active independently of the creative cause, and which, 
by producing some subsequent change, would react 
upon and arouse the now dormant cause which by 
previous activity created it. There is, however, no 
reason to suppose that the supi'eme First Cause ever 
becomes quiescent ; and it is even doubtful whether the 
finite mind ever does. It is only certain that we do 
not always remeinber in what we were active, or that 
we were active in any wise. 

No intelligent being can do anything unless it makes 
effort to do something. It may try to do one thing and 
really do something else. A man may attempt to take 
a flower ; and, for that purpose, by the requisite voli- 
tion move the hand, but, instead of reaching the flower, 
may overturn a vase, which he did not observe. His 



OF WANT AND EFFORT. 139 

plan did not embrace all the essential facts, or circum- 
Btances ; his knowledge, at least as applied, was defect- 
ive, and the effect did not conform to the preconception. 
Still, but for the effort to reach tlie flower, he would 
not have overturned the vase. If his power does it and 
yet he does not exert his own power, the power must 
exert itself, or be exerted by something without him 
and not of him ; and, in either case, it is not his power, 
and he has no agency either in putting forth the power, 
or in producing the effect. He does not even make 
the signal for some other cause to put the power which 
produces the effect into action. If, then, the power of 
an intelligent being is put forth at all, it nmst be by 
the being to which such power pertains ; and the con- 
dition which makes the difference between the non- 
exercise and the exercise of its power is that of effort ; 
and hence, its effort is necessary to its doing or being 
the cause of anytliing, even of that which it does not 
intend to do. But, when an intelligent being makes 
an effort to do somethi?) g, it is with an intent and design 
to do it ; and it will not try, endeavor, make effort to do 
anything which it does not wmit to do. So that, the 
want to do something is essential to its doing anything, 
even that which it does not want to do. 

But, though the want rouses the mind to effort, it 
does not make or direct the effort. The intelligent 
agent that perceives the relation of the anticipated 
sequences of the effort to the want, must do this ; 
though, without the want, these sequences Avould not 
be sought. If Napoleon, on the morning of the battle 
of Austerlitz, had not been aroused from his slumber. 
he would not then have fought that battle ; but the 
page, the drum-beat, the cannon's roar, or the want of 



14:0 FKEEDOM OF MIND IN WILLING. 

food, of activity, or of gloiy, which aroused him, had 
nothing to do with the direction or order of the battle. 
So the want arouses the mind to effort, but does not, 
and, being unintelligent, cannot direct, or even indicate, 
what effort. This must be determined by the mind, 
which uses its knowledge, intuitive or acquired, for that 
purpose.* 

But, admitting that want is in all cases a necessary 
prerequisite to effort, some may suppose that effort is 
a condition of cause only in a finite being ; and that 
infinite power accomplishes its ends without effort. 
Such, however, do not imagine that He produces effects 
or changes without an act of His will ; and, if our defi- 
nition of will is correct, this is an effort. To suppose 
any intelligence to become the cause of any change 
without some action of its own, is to suppose intelli- 
gence to be cause and a necessary cause, merely in 
virtue of its existence. But all the effects of such a 
cause must be simultaneous with its existence, and its 
causative power must cease at the moment of its birth. 
Now, at any given moment of time, all the causes 
which can influence the immediate succession of events 
must exist ; and, if the effects of all these causes are 
necessary consequences of their existence, then these 
effects must all be coexistent with such existence ; and, 
even if we suppose one or more of these effects to be 
the creation of a new cause, if -^'^^ eflects, too, are neces- 
sary consequences of its existence, they, also, would be 
coexistent with its creation ; and the causative power of 
the first cause, with that of all subsequent created causes, 
would be exhausted at the same instant and no effects 
could be produced in the future. Hence the necessity 

* See Appendix, Note XXVII. 



OF WANT AND EFFORT. 141 

of some cause, the efi'ects of whicli do not, of necessity, 
result from its existence^ but which retains a power of 
producing change that it does not, of necessity^ exert at 
the instant — which is not cause merely in virtue of 
its existence. 

Matter, retaining, or extending its power in time 
by means of motion ; and intelligence, with power 
which it puts in action when it perceives a reason, or 
has a want ; are the only such conceivable causes. Of 
these, we have already shown that intelligence, in its 
powers of effort and of preconception, has a special 
adaptation to future effects ; and that matter in motion 
can now be, at most, only its instrument in producing 
these effects. 

That God, with His infinite attributes, exists cannot, 
as already shown, of itself, be a cause of any changes 
subsequent to the commencement of such existence ; 
and hence, if such existence embraces a past eternity, 
His mere existence cannot, of itself, be, or ever have 
been, the cause of anything which has had a beginning. 

If the power exerts itself without any effort of 
the being of which it is an attribute, then that being 
has no more agency in producing the effect, than if it 
took place without any exercise of its power whatever. 
There must be a distinction between that condition 
of any being, finite or infinite, in which it actively 
produces, or endeavors to produce change ; and that 
condition of repose, in which, satisfied with things as 
they are, or as it perceives they will be, by the agency 
of other causes, it remains inactive and has no agency 
in producing change. The former must he a condition 
of effort. If, in the Supreme Being, there is no such 
distinction, then the efiects must be independent of His 



142 FREEDOM OF MIND IN WILLING. 

action and are not caused by Him, for they come to 
pass as well without as with His action. Hence, what- 
ever has its origin in His agency must require His 
effort. 

Much of the reasoning w^hich I have just before this 
applied to show tlie necessity of effort to the producing 
of any effect by a finite being, as man, is applicable to 
any order of intelligent being. The Infinite, however, 
would never, by its effort, produce effects counter to its 
intention ; although, through self-active free agents of 
its own creation, it might be the remote cause, or rather 
the cause of the cause, of what it did not decree, or even 
foreknow. 

The idea that Omnipotence may be creative with- 
out effort is, perhaps, induced by observing that with 
every increase of our own power we accomplish any 
given work with less effort ; and it seems to be a mathe- 
matical deduction, that M'hen the power becomes infi- 
nite, the effort must become nothing. But if the mag- 
nitude of the effect, or the power required to produce 
it, keeps pace with the magnitude of the power appli- 
cable to its production, no such consequence is deduci- 
ble from increase of powder. We look upon ISewton 
and Napoleon, each in their respective spheres of action, 
as having had more power in themselves than most 
men ; but no one supposes they made less effort. On 
the contrary, M^e are apt to consider the efforts of such 
men as commensurate with the effects of the exercise 
of their powers. So, also, if the works of a being of 
infinite power are infinite, there is at least no reason 
to suppose that His efforts are not as great as those of 
a being of finite power producing finite effects. Even 
Omnipotence has its bound in the absolutely impossible; 



OF WANT AND EFFORT. 143 

and there may be effects, just witliin the verge of possi- 
bility, approaching so near the impossible as to task 
even infinite power to accomplish them. There is, 
however, in the case supposed, no power at all without 
the eftbrt. If we should speak of a dormant power, we 
could only mean, not that there is now power, but that 
there would be power if exerted ; i. e.,m a self-active 
being, with effort there would be power ; and attribut- 
ing Omnipotence to any being could only mean that 
the efforts of such a being may be all-powerful. 

Effort, then, to which want and knowledge are pre- 
requisites, is an essential element of a creative being ; 
and He who governs and controls all the " vast, stu- 
pendous scheme of things," and reconciles the various 
and conflicting efforts of numberless free agents in har- 
monious results, cannot be an inert being, passively 
looking upon the gradual development of His designs, 
but must put forth an active energy, must make effort, 
— must will these results. 

We have already remarked that want involves the 
idea, or knowledge of future change, though not of the 
means of producing change. Want, then, which, in the 
system we are assei-ting, lies at the foundation as a pre- 
requisite of effort or will, is also the first incipient, 
chaotic, but still inchoate stage of those preconceptions 
of the future by which the mind eventually determines 
these efforts ; and the want thus has with it the genu 
of the element of its own gratification. In this we may 
recognize something of that harmony, or unity which 
usually pertains only to truth and which ever marks 
the designs of Infinite Wisdom. 

But, for the gratification of the want, the mere 
knowledge tbat change is necessary is not suflBcient. 
We must know what chaug-e ; and, however small and 



144 FEEEDOM OF MIND IN WILLING. 

simple tlie want, or however easy and obvious the 
means, a creative preconception of them is required. I 
am hungry, and seek to gratify the want for food. I 
see bread before me, and know that, by various move- 
ments of my hand, mouth, tongue, &c. &c. in a certain 
consecutive order, and only in that order ^ the want may 
be gratified. I may want a house to give me shelter, and 
for this a more complicated creation must be designed 
and a more extended creative power must be put forth, 
and with the same regard to the order of the efforts, to 
actualize the creative conception. Still, the mind could 
design or form such creation within itself, and will, or 
make effort, to actualize it without itself, if there were 
no other intelligence or power in existence, or if all 
other existence were entirely passive ; and hence, feel- 
ing the want and having the knowledge required to de- 
termine the mode of gratifying it, could by its own in- 
herent powers, unaided and unrestrained by any other 
power, determine, or put forth a corresponding volition, 
could will the creation it has conceived, and, if there is 
a direct connection between its volitions and their 
sequences, the mind can thus actualize its conceptions 
in a real external creation. ]S^or, so far as relates to 
the act of will itself, is the mode of that connection im- 
portant. If the mind only knows that the consequences 
will, or may follow its volitions, this knowledge is a 
sufficient basis for its own effort ; for an effort directed 
by its use of its own knowledge is self-directed and 
therefore free. Whether there is any direct connection 
between volition and its final sequences, is a question 
which we have already considered, though more espe- 
cially in relation to external phenomena. The same 
question arises in regard to internal changes, and this 
will be considered in the next chapter. 



OllArTER XIV. 

OP EFFORT FOR INTERNAL CHANOB. 

In regard to the relation of effort to mtornal 
changes ; as, can we of ourselves put our internal pow- 
ers in action ? or, can we repent of evil and change our 
affections and dispositions solely by our own efforts? 
we will first remark that, though we may very reason- 
ably suppose that our own mental efforts are more 
closely connected with mental than with external ma- 
terial changes, still, as it appears not improbable that 
our efforts are made effective in the external by the 
intermediate agency of the Omnipresent Intelligence, 
so, in like manner, it may be that the Divine influence is 
necessary to give eflicacy to our efforts for internal 
change. The question here raised is whether the se- 
quences of volition are the immediate effects of our 
effort to produce them, or if there is some intervening 
power or cause, to the action of which our own efforts 
are either necessary, or uniform antecedents. In both 
cases, however, the important fact that our efforts are 
necessary antecedents or conditions precedent to the 
changes is known, and furnishes a good foundation for 
effort, let the subsequent effects be brought about as 
they may. If the effort is essential to a desirable result, 
1 



14f) FREEDOM OF MIND IN WILLING. 

the reason for the efibrt is the same, whether the result 
be proximate or remote. Though this is all that is 
strictly within the scope of our present inquiry, yet, as 
germane to the subject, we may be permitted to re- 
mark, that the action of those internal faculties by 
which we do follows our efforts to use them to increase 
our knowledge, or to effect other internal change, as 
uniformly as the bodily movements follow our efforts to 
produce external change ; the cionnection between the 
effort and the sequence of it is in both cases equally 
uniform a,iid equally inscrutable. External circum- 
stances may affect us both internally and externally, 
may produce sensation and emotion ; and may, also, 
move our bodies without our volition and even against 
it. 

We cannot directly will a change in our mental 
affections any more than we can directly will Avhat are 
termed bodily sensations. We cannot directly will the 
emotions of hope, or fear, or to be pare and noble, or 
even to want to become pure and noble, any more than 
we can directly will to be hungry, or to want to be 
hungry. If we want to take food we are already hun- 
gry, and if we want to perform pure and noble actions 
and to avoid the impure and ignoble, while this want, 
or disposition prevails, we are already pure and noble. 
If we want to be hungry, i. e. want to want food, and 
know that by exercise, or by the use of certain stimulants, 
or by other means we may become hungry, we may by 
effort induce this, in such case, a cultivated want ; and 
if we want to want to be pure and noble and know the 
means, we may, in like manner, by effort gratify the ex- 
citing want, and induce the want, which in such case 
is a cultivated want, to become pure and noble. 



OF KFFORT FOR INTKRNAL CHANGE. 147 

If, from seeing the pleasure which admiring a beau- 
tiful flower affords to others, or from any other cause, 
we want to admire it, we would readily perceive that 
some additional knowledge is essential to that end ; and 
that the first step is to find, by examination, what in it 
is admirable. To examine, then, becomes a secondary 
want, and we will to examine. The result of this ex- 
amination may be, that its before unknown beauties 
excite our admiration and make it, or the gazing upon 
it, an object of want ; so we may also will to examine 
what is pure and noble till its developed loveliness ex- 
cites in us, or increases, the want to be pure and noble, 
and induces a correlative aversion to what is gross 
and base. 

It may be that increasing our knowledge of the 
flower will have an opposite eflPect, and produce disgust, 
or confirm our indifference. We cannot, by will, de- 
termine what the knowledge, or the effect of the knowl- 
Q,(Xg<d on us will be ; but still, as we cannot by effort 
directly discard, or lessen^ the knowledge we already 
have, the only way in which we can by effort change 
our present intelligential relations to the flower is to 
increase our knowledge ; and hence, herein lies our 
only chance and hope to come to admire it.* If there 
is anything really admirable, or lovely in a flower, or 
in a moral emotion or sentiment, examination may re- 
veal it, and our admii-ation follow the discovery. If 
holiness were something which it were .well for us to 
want and to have, and yet repalsive in its nature, ex- 
amination could not help the matter. We never could 
thus make it a primary want ; but, in such case, in- 
creasing our knowledge might even eradicate such 
* See Appendix, Note XXVIII. 



148 FREEDOM OF MIND IN WILLING. 

want if innately existing. If repulsive, it could only 
be wanted as a means of something else, and then, as a 
nauseous dose, the less thought of the better. But God 
has not so ordered it; on the contraiy, by the consti- 
tution of our being, virtue in all its forms, in itself, ap- 
pears more harmonious and beautiful, more lovely and 
attractive, the more it is examined ; and hence, with 
the power to examine, may be made the object of a cul- 
tivated want and of consequent effort to attain it. 

We said the result of the examination, — the newly 
discovered beauties of a flower, or of a moral virtue — 
excites, or increases the want ; for the purely mental 
wants, as well as those associated with our physical 
nature, have their roots in the constitution of our being ; 
and the recurrence of the former, if not so regular in 
their periods, or so imperative in their demands as the 
latter, is still amply provided for without any special 
effort of our own. God has so constituted us that the 
want of progress — of something better than the present 
attainment — is an universal want, occurring in our spir- 
itual, even more certainly than the appropriate wants 
in our physical constitution. The occurrence of them 
in both and our providing not oidy for their immediate 
gratification, but for their recurrence in the future, 
make conflicting wants, between which we have to 
decide ; and tliough our decisions in such cases may 
become habitual, and be almost unnoticeable, yet the 
occasions for such decisions will continue to arise. 

The occurrence and recurrence of our spiritual wants 
are as certain as those of hunger. We are continually 
reminded of them by our own thoughts and acts, by 
comparison with those of others, and by the external 
manifestations of God's thought and action ; and He 



OF EFFORT FOR INTERNAL CHANGE. 149 

has placed wifcliiii us the moral sense, as a sentinel, with 
its intuitions more certainly warning us of what, in 
wants, or means, is noxious to our moral nature, than 
the senses of taste and smell do of what is iiajurious to 
our physical. 

These remarks, with our previous reasoning, lead us 
to the conclusion that want, constitutional, acquired, or 
cultivated, is the source of effort for internal, as well as 
external change, and that this is true of every order of 
intelligent, active being. 

Grod directs His efforts with infinite knowledge, per- 
fectly considered, or comprehended — perfect wisdom ; 
man, his with finite knowledge, imperfectly considered, 
or only partially comprehended — fallible judgment, or 
imperfect wisdom. Infinite wisdom always reconciles 
its wants, or the mode of gratifying them, with what 
is right ; and hence, moral perfection, Man's finite 
wisdom does not always reconcile his wants, or the 
mode of gratifying them, with absolute right ; and 
hence, moral evil, or imperfection, in his general con- 
dition as exhibited in aggregated social combination ; 
nor yet with his own conceptions of right ; and hence, 
individual moral depravity, which can only exist when 
his efi'orts are not put forth in conformity to his knowl- 
edge or sense of right. 

As a man cannot do any moral wrong in doing what 
he believes to be right, his knowledge, though finite, is 
infallible as to what it is morally right for him to do ; * 
and his fallibility in morals must consist in his liability 
to act at variance with his knowledge, or conviction of 
right, and never in deficiency of knowledge, or even in 
belief. In this view, his Ttnowledge in the sphere of his 
* See Appendix, Note XXIX. 



J 50 FKEEDOM OF MIND IN WILLING. 

moral nature is infallible, and were lie infinitely wise, 
or certain to act in conformity to his knowledge of the 
right, he would be infallible in his moral sphere of 
action. 

It is also evident that the mind must direct its 
efforts for internal change by means of those preconcep- 
tions of the future effects of its efforts, which its knowl- 
edge enables it to form. 

Now a preconception is an imaginary construction,* 
an incipient creation of the mind in the future. In 
forming it, the mind does not, of necessity, even con- 
sider, or recognize the already existing external circum- 
stances. In " castle-building " it often voluntarily dis- 
cards these circumstances and forms a construction 
entirely from its own internal being. Retaining its 
knowledge of the past, and having the power of ab- 
straction, it coidd just as well conceive an external 
creation, if all external existences, facts, and circum- 
stances were annihilated. A man thus isolated may 
imagine a universe in which all is, in his view, beauti- 
ful and good ; or, confining himself to his own being 
and prompted by his physical wants, he may, in im- 
agination, revel in all the luxuries of sense. He may 
not even intend to make the additional effort to actual- 
ize these combinations, and make them palpable to 
others, or permanent within himself. If he makes such 
effort he, perhaps, finds that it is unavailing, and that 
he cannot give external reality to his creative concep- 
tion of such a universe, and that he has not the means 
to obtain the luxuries he has imagined. Yet he has 
formed these ideal constructions as freely and as inde- 
pendently of all other existing causes, as though he had 
* See Appendix, Note XXX. 



OF EFFORT FOK INTERNAL CHANGE. 151 

omnipotent power to realize the conceptions in an out- 
ward creation. 

So, too, if moved by the aspirations of his spiritual 
being, he may conceive in himself a moral nature, pure 
and noble, resisting all temptation to evil and conform- 
ing with, energetic and persevering effort to all virtuous 
impulses and suggestions. Tliough we may make no 
effort and not even intend to make any to realize such 
ideal conceptions, they are not without their influence 
on our moral nature. Tliey appear sometimes to be 
formed merely for the exercise of our faculties in con- 
structing, and sometimes for the pleasure of contem- 
plating new and varied forms of harmony and beauty ; 
and, in both cases, they are not without utility. The 
preconceptions thus sportively made add to our knowl- 
edge and to our skill in combining, and furnish models 
which may be available for future practical use. Poetry 
presents us with such constructions ready formed by 
others. These purely ideal conceptions have this ad- 
vantage, that, in forming them, the mind being free 
from the excitements and selfish inducements, from the 
temptations of actual affairs, is more disinterested in 
its judgment of right and wrong and acquires expe- 
rience and forms habits, which, without its actually en- 
countering, prepare it for the exigencies of real life. 
The making of such constructions as harmonize with 
our conceptions of moral excellence is itself improving ; 
a determination in advance, by persevering effort to 
make them manifest in action upon proper occasion, is a 
greater step in progress ; and the mere willing to ac- 
tualize them, when the occasion presents, is, so far as 
the moral nature is concerned, really their final con- 
summation ; for, whether the effort be exhibited in ex- 



152 FREEDOM OF MIND IN WILLING. 

ternal manifestation or not, makes no difference to the 
condition of the moral nature. The external act or 
effect is but the tangible evidence to others of the in- 
ternal effort, which is the real manifestation of the 
moral element. This is in harmony with our statement 
that, producing the intended effect is not material to 
our freedom in wilKng it. If a man wills to do an act 
which is good and noble, it matters not, concerning his 
virtue, whether his effort be successful or otherwise ; 
the effort is, itself, the triumph in him of the good and 
noble over the bad and base. If the object of the effort, 
instead of external good and noble action, is the direct 
improvement of his own moral nature, then the perse- 
vering effort to be good and noble is, itself, being good 
and noble. 

It follows from these positions that, as regards the 
moral nature, there can be no failure except the failure 
to will, or to mahe the proper effort. The human 
mind, with its want, knowledge and faculty of effort, 
having the power within and from itself to form its 
creative preconceptions and to will their actual reali- 
zation independently of any other cause, power, or 
existence of any kind, up to the point of willing^ is, in 
its own sphere, an independent creative first cause. 
Exterior to itself it may not have the power to execute 
what it wills. It may be frustrated by other external 
forces; and hence, in the external^ the contemplated 
creative consummation of volition may not be reached ; 
bnt as in the moral nature^ the willing, the persevering 
effort is itself the consummation, there can, in it, be no 
such failure ; and tlie mind, in it, is therefore not only 
a creative, but a Supreme creative first cause. 



OF EFFORT FOK INTERNAL CHANGE. 153 

We have then, between efi'ort in the sphere of the 
moral nature and in that spliere which is external to it, 
this marked difference : that while in the external there 
must be something beyond the effort ; i. e., there must 
be that subsequent change, which is the object of the 
effort, before the creation is consummated ; in the 
spliere of tlie moral nature, the effort is itself the con- 
summation, and all that follows but manifests the con- 
dition, or the wa7it of that nature, which, though innate 
and originally developed by the actual occurrences of 
life, may yet have been cultivated by the mind in con- 
templating its ideal preconceptions, without the inter- 
ference of external causes, or of circumstances, except 
so iar as those externals may have suggested this culti- 
vation, or have added to the knowledge of the means 
of effecting it. 

In the sjpJiere of its own moral nature, then, what- 
ever the finite mind really wills is as innnediately and 
as certainly executed, as is the will of Omnipotence in 
its sphere of action ; for the willing, in such case, is 
itself the final accomplishment of the creative precon- 
ception which tlie mind has formed in and of itself. 
We must here be careful to distinguish between that 
mere abstract judgment, or knowledge of what is 
desirable in our moral nature, and the want, which 
leads to the actual willing, or effort to attain it. A 
man may know that it is best for him to be pure and 
noble and yet, in view of some expected, or habitual 
gratification, not only not want to be then pure and 
noble, but be absolutely opposed to being made so, 
even if some external power could and would effect it 
for him. We may, however, remark that, as the moral 
quality of the action lies wholly in the will and no 



154 fri:edom of mind in willing. 

other being can will for him, to be morally good with- 
out his own efforts is an impossibility ; all that any 
other being can do for him in this respect is to use 
means to excite his wants and increase his knowledge, 
and thus induce him to put forth his own efforts. Even 
Omnipotence can do no more than this ; for making a 
man virtuous without his own voluntary co-operation 
involves a contradiction. The accumulations of vir- 
tuous effort are manifested in the knowledge which in- 
dicates, and the cultivated wants which require right 
action. The influence of such knowledge and wants 
becoming persistent and fixed by habit, forms, as it 
were, the substance of virtuous character. 

A man, who does not want to be pure and noble, 
may yet begin one step lower in the scale of moral ad- 
vancement, with the want to want to be pure and 
noble ; and, here commencing the cultivation of his 
moral nature, ascend from this lower point, through 
the want to be pure and noble, to the free effort to 
gratify this want. 

The efori of a man to be good and noble is the con- 
summation, is actually being good and noble. The vir- 
tue, in the time of that effort, all lies in, or in and within 
the effort, and not in its success or failure^ which is 
beyond, or without the effort. It is, for the time being, 
just as perfect if no external, or no permanent results 
follow the effort. If the good effort is transitory, the 
moral goodness will be equally so, and may be as mere 
flashes of light upon the gloom of a settled moral de- 
pravity. 

Nor does the nature of the resulting effect make 
any difference to the moral quality of the effort. A 
man's intentions may be most virtuous, and yet the 



OF EFFORT FOR INTERNAL CHANGE. loO 

actual consequences of his efforts be most pernicious. 
On the other hand, a man m-dy be as selfish in doing acts 
beneficent to others, may do good to others with as nar- 
row calculations of personal benefit, as in doing those 
acts which he knows will be most injurious to his fellow- 
men ; and doing such acts for selfish ends manifests no 
virtue, whether that end be making money, or reaching 
Heaven,* and brings with it neither the self-approval, 
nor the elevating influences of generous, self-forgetting, 
or self-sacrificing action.f The moral nature of a voli- 
tion cannot be in any way affected by what actually 
follows that volition. 

Again, no moral wrong can pertain to a man for 
any event in which lie has had and could have no 
agency, which he could neither promote nor obstruct. 
Until he has put forth efifort, against his knowledge of 
duty, or omitted to put it forth in conformity with this 
knoM' ledge, there can be no moral wrong. There is no 
present moral wrong, either in the knowledge now in 
his mind, or in the exciting want which he now feels. 
There may have been moral wrong in the acquisition 
of any knowledge, or in the omission to acquire any, 
which required an effort. Such acquisition or omis- 
sion may have then been counter to his conviction 
of right. There can be no moral wrong in the acqui- 
sition of that knowledge, which he unintentionally 
acquires. That a man involuntarily knows that 
the sun shines, or that a drvim is beating, cannot be 
morally wrong in itself. So likewise, that any knowl- 
edge now actually has place in his mind can, of itself, 
involve no present moral wrong-doing, though the 
fact that it is there may be evidence of a previous 
* See Appendix, Note XXXI. + See Appendix, Note XXXIL 



156 FREEDOM OF MESTD IN WILLING. 

moral wrong committed in its acquisition. This he 
cannot now prevent. Such knowledge may have so 
polluted his moral nature, that it will require an effort 
to purify it. The polluting arose from the previous 
effort to acquire, or, negatively, from not making the 
effort to prevent acquiring, and not from the mere fact 
of possessing the knowledge, which is now beyond his 
control, and does not, of itself, alter the moral condi- 
tion from that state in which the wrong of acquisition 
left it, though every wrong application of it may do so. 

So also in regard to the natural wants. There is 
no moral wrong in the mere fact of their recurrence. 
There may be moral wrong in our willing to gratify a 
want, which should not be gratified, or in entertaining, 
or cultivating one, which should be discarded, or eradi- 
cated, or in the time, or the mode of the gratification. 
That such want exists at all, or that it should recur at 
such time, may be proof of a previous wrong effort in 
cultivating the wants, or of an omission to eradicate it 
or to cultivate some conflicting want ; but, if its pi-esent 
recurrence is not by our own effort, such recurience, 
of itself", can involve no present moral wrong, and 
merely furnishes the occasion for virtuous effort to re- 
sist what is wrong, or to foster and strengthen what is 
right. The want may indicate the present condition 
of the moral natui-e, while it also supplies the opportu- 
nities which make both improvement and degeneracy 
possible. Though that condition may be comparattvely 
low in the scale, yet an effort to advance from it may 
be as truly and purely virtuous as a like effort at any 
higher point in the scale. 

In the present moment, then, the knowledge and the 
want, which exist prior to the effort, involve no present 



OF EFFORT FOR INTERNAL CHANGE. ISY 

moral right and wrong ; and, as we have already shown 
that the sequence of the effort does not, it follows that 
the moral right and wi'ong are all concentrated in the 
effort, or act of will, which is our own free act. 

Efforts to be pure and noble, and for corresponding 
external action, may become habitual, and hence com- 
paratively easy ; habit, as before explained, in this as 
in other cases, retaining, or holding fast what is ac- 
quired in action, and thus leaving the mind at liberty 
to employ itself in new acquisitions, — new progress in 
action. 

We may further observe in this connection that our 
moral wants are more under the control of the mind's 
acts of will than the physical conditions of bodily wants ; 
and though we cannot directly will not to think of any- 
thing, yet by willing to think of something else we 
may displace and banish the first thought ; so, though 
we cannot directly will the removal of a want, yet we 
can will to direct our attention to something else, and 
also use our knowledge of means to call up, or induce 
another want, and thus be unmindful of, or discard the 
first want. And though this is especially true of the 
moral wants, it partially applies also to the physical. 
We know, for instance, that by exercise and fasting we 
can induce hunger ; and we may find means of inducing 
any moral want and by the use of these means, some 
of which we have already suggested, may give one 
moral want a preponderance over another, which, by 
repetition becoming habitual, will go far to eradicate a 
discarded moral want and to modify the influence even 
of the physical. 

If entirely eradicated there can be no corresponding 



158 FREEDOM OF MIND IN WILLING. 

volition and a man habitually liolj, who has eradicated 
the conflicting wants, loses the power to will what is 
unholy ; and, as he cannot be unholy, except by his 
own voluntary act, he has then no power to be unholy. 
This is, perhaps, a condition to which a finite moral na- 
ture may forever approximate, but never actually reach, 
never attain that condition of perfection in which it is 
absolutely unable to will what is impure and ignoble.* 

A being infinitely wise, pure and noble cannot, 
while in that condition, will what is in any degree un- 
wise, impure, or ignoble, this being contradictory ; and, 
if such a being has no want and no susceptibility to 
want what is unwise, impure and ignoble, such being 
cannot freely will what is unwise, impure and ignoble ; 
and if, as we have endeavored to show, the will cannot 
act otherwise than freely, such a being cannot will what 
is thus contradictory to its nature. 

Our moral wants, like our physical, are many of 
them wholly innate, while for others there is only an 
adaptive preparation. As we may, from our acquired 
knowledge, come to want and to cultivate some particu- 
lar physical want, so we may also come to want and to 
cultivate any of our moral wants ; as, for instance, from 
our observation of others, or our own past experience, 
or from reflection, may want to want to progress in 
holiness — want to want to be holy — and, if we have the 
requisite knowledge, we may adopt means to gratify 
the exciting want, which, in this case, is an acquired 
want, and thus induce the want to be holy, whicli 
though a natural, or innate want, by this process be- 
comes, also, a cultivated want. Through this knowl- 
edge of the means of giving to some of our internal 

* See Appendix, Note XXXIII. 



or EFFOKT FOli INTERNAL CHANGE. 159 

wants a predominance over others, we are enabled by 
effort to influence our moral characteristics at their 
verj source. Even under circumstances least favorable 
to the recognition of our spiritual condition, amid the 
engrossments offense, the excitements of passion, or the 
turmoil of absorbing business, external events will often 
suggest our moral wants, while in calm and thought- 
ful moments they present themselves as spontaneously 
as thirst in a summer's day.* But as a prudent man 
will anticipate his bodily wants and look around to 
provide for their recurrence, and thus maintain his 
physical vigor, it is also wise to keep our moral wants 
in view and to bestow on them such attention as will 
sustain our moral energy. The intuitive knowledge to 
examine avails in both cases. Whatever of moral im- 
provement we effect in this way, must be from the 
want ; from the preconception, or knowledge, reduced 
to a form available to the gratification of the want ; and 
by the effort. 

Having now shown that, by means of such knowl- 
edge, we can cultivate our wants and thus give one or 
the other of conflicting wants the ascendancy and pro- 
mote one to the, at least, partial exclusion of others ; 
that the knowledge of each individual as to what is 
morally right for him is infallible ; that the mind can 
form an ideal construction, or preconception within 
itself, without reference to any external existence ; that 
it can freely make effort to realize such construction ; 
and that, nothing teyond the effort has any influence 
upon the moral nature of the effort, or of the agent 
making the effort ; we may, more confidently than be- 
fore, deduce the conclusion, that the mind in the sphere 
* See Appendix, Note XXXIV. 



160 FREEDOM OF MIND IN "WILLING. 

of its own moral nature, applying an infallible knowl- 
edge which it possesses, to material purely its own, 
may conceive an ideal moral creation and then realize 
the ideal construction in an actual creation by and in 
its own act of will ; and hence, when willing in the 
sphere of his own moral nature, man is not only a crea- 
tive first cause, but a supreme creative First Cause ; and, 
as his moral nature can be affected only by his own act 
of will, and no other power can will, or produce his own 
act of will, he is, in it, also a sole creative first cause, 
though still a finite cause. Other intelligences may 
aid him by imparting knowledge ; may, by word, or 
action, instruct him in the architecture ; but the appli- 
cation of this knowledge, the actual building, must be 
by himself alone. Though finite, his efliciency as cause 
in this sphere is limited only by that limit of all crea- 
tive power, the incompatible, or contradictory ; and by 
his conceptions of change in his moral nature, which are 
dependent upon the extent of his knowledge ; and, in 
this view, the will itself having no bounds of its own, 
may be regarded as infinite, though the range for its 
act-ion is finite ; or, in other words, within the sphere 
of its moral nature, the finite mind can will any possible 
change of which it can conceive, or of which it can 
form a preconception ; and, as the willing it is the con- 
summation of this preconception, there is no change in 
our moral being, which we can conceive of, that we 
have not the ability to consummate by efibrt ; and as, 
so far as we know, our power to conceive of new prog- 
ress, to form new conceptions of change, enlarges with 
every consummation of a previous conception, there is 
no reason to suppose that there is any absolute limit to 
our moral sphere of effort, but that it is onlv relatively 



OF EFFOET FOR INTERNAL CHANGE. 161 

and temporarily circumscribed by our finite perceptions, 
which, having a finite rate of increase, may forever con- 
tinue to expand in it witliout pressing on its outermost 
bound ; and, if all these positions are true, every intel- 
ligent being, capable of conceiving of higher ethical 
conditions tlian he has yet attained, has in his own 
moral nature for the exercise of his creative powers 
an infinite sphere, within which, with knowledge there 
infallible, he is the supreme disposer; and in which, 
without his free will, nothing is made, but all the crea- 
tions in it are as singly and solely his as if no other 
intelligent cause existed ; and for which he is, of course, 
as singly and solely responsible as God is for the crea- 
tions in that sphere in which He manifests His creative 
power; though, as a finite, created being, even in this, 
his own allotted sphere, man may still be properly ac- 
countable for the use of his creative powers to Him 
who gave them. 



CHAPTER XV 



CONCLUSION, 



I HAVE now endeavored to show, in the first place, 

That it is, at least, doubtful whether there can be 
any unintelligent cause. 

That, be this as it may, every intelligent being that 
wills, is itself cause, in a sphere which is commensarate 
with its knowledge. 

That the finite intelligence, in the lowest form of 
instinctive action in which it merely acts out an intui- 
tive plan furnished to it ready formed, which is the 
only one it knows and of which it may know only one 
step at a time, is still a first cause. 

That, when its knowledge embraces the whole plan, 
so that it woi'ks with a view to an end, it enters the 
sphere of a designing first cause. 

And that, when, with still increased knowledge, it 
forms its own plans of action, it becomes a creative 
first cause, by the exercise of its finite powers within 
the sphere of its finite knowledge, in which it has a 
finite presence, freely creating, as God, by the exercise 
of His infinite powers, creates in that infinite sphere 
in which He is Omniscient and Omnipresent. 

That such creative action is, in some cases, rendered 
more easy to the finite mind by its adopting through 



CONCLUSION. 163 

memory and association tlie plana it has before formed 
in similar cases, and tlius, in habitual actions, saving 
itself the labor of forming new plans. 

That the mind has innately, as a part of its constitn- 
tional existence, the knowledge whicli enables it to will, 
or bj effort either directly to do certain things, or to 
put its own powers for doing them in action ; and also 
to cause muscular movements, which are its first step 
in producing changes external to itself. 

And that, having this ability to be active and by 
its knowledge to du'ect its activity, it is incited to eifort 
by want, also, at least, in the first and in most instances, 
constitutional. 

That this eflbrt in each case is a beginning, which, 
except in the case of habitual modes, applied to like 
occasions, or through some change in its knowledge, is 
in no wise dependent upon its own former activity, nor 
related to the external results of that activity, any more 
than to such results brought about by any other activi- 
ty, or cause. 

That the eiTort cannot be connected with anything 
in the past as a necessary effect, but can only be so con- 
nected at all by the action of the mind. 

That, at each effort, the mind takes things as they 
actually present themselves to it at the moment of will- 
ing, as the basis of new action, using this, or any other 
available knowledge it may have, to form preconcep- 
tions of the efiect of any contenjplated. action on the 
future, including also the condition of that future in 
case it does not act, and then, by a preliminary exer- 
cise of its faculties, comparing these pi'econceptions and 
judging, or, as we may otherwise express it, by deliber- 
ation applying its knowledge to a judgment, — and thus 



164 FRKEDOM OF MIND IN WILLING. 

determines, for itself, by what mode it will endeavor to 
gratify the exciting want, and makes the corresponding 
final effort, or efforts ; or if it favors that preconception 
in which the element of its own effort is not, it makes 
no effort ; the deciding between these preconceptions is, 
itself, the determination of the mind as to its course ; 
its determined plan of action, its idea of the change it 
will produce and of the mode in which it will produce it, 
are thereby completed ; the creation it would will into 
existence is conceived, is separated from all other con- 
ceivable combinations, and a successful effort to realize, 
or to actualize that preconception, or, in other words, 
producing by an effort that change in the future which 
the mind, in virtue of its intelligence perceives in ad- 
vance to be required by its want, finishes the creation 
wliich that want demanded ; and the mind will create 
no more until it has another want, and conceives, or 
designs some new creation to gratify it. 

That innate wants and intuitive knowledge thus 
furnish a basis for the beginning of voluntary action, 
which is further developed and its sphei-e of action en- 
larged by increase of knowledge. 

That man, having a power to will and a want to 
will, may will, or that, having a want, for the gratifica- 
tion of which an act of will, or a series of acts is neces- 
sary, he wills in such a particular way, rather than in 
any other, because, being intelligent, he knows, or 
judges that particular way to be best adapted to the 
end. 

That every particular, or distinct existence must 
have some peculiar characteristic, to distinguish it from 
other existence, as, without such distinctions, all exist- 
ence would be one existence ; and that the pre-requisites 



CONCLUSION. 165 

of effort, want, knowledge and faculty of will, are a 
part of the characteristics, attributes, or conditions, 
which distinguish active, intelligent beings from other 
existences. 

That the object of the effort, is always to produce 
some change in the future ; and that, in this work of 
producing some change and thus creating the future, 
every being, that designs and wills, is a creative first 
cause — a co-worker with God — to the extent of its finite 
power, fi-eely and independently putting forth its efi'orts 
to modify that future, which is the composite result of 
the combined action of all efficient causes.* 

I have also endeavored to show : 

That man, having a power of abstraction, may form 
and vary his preconceptions, or incipient creations, pure- 
ly from his own internal ideas, without any reference 
whatever to any other existence ; and may freely and 
independently make effort to actualize these preconcep- 
tions. 

That the effort to actualize them is, so far as relates 
to his own nnoral nature^ the consummation of his 
creative conceptions, and that hence, in the sphere of 
his own moral nature, man is not only a creative first 
cause, but a supreme creative first cause, limited in the 
effects he may there produce only by that limit of his 
knowledge, within which his creative preconceptions 
are of necessity circumscribed and by the impossibility 
of working contradictions, which applies to the Infinite 
as well as to the finite intelligence. 

And further, that of the only pre-reqiiisite antece- 
dents of his creations, want, knowledge and faculty of 
will, the want, tliough it excites to action, or is the oc- 

* See Appendix, Note XXXV. 



1G6 FREEDOM OF MIXD IN WILLING. " 

casion for it, does not direct, or even indicate the direc- 
tion of the effort, which the Tnind must do by means of 
its knowledge, and that, in regard to its moral action, 
this knowledge being infallible, man can there only err 
by hnowingly willing what is wrong, and as this wrong 
willing must be his own free act, an act which no other 
being or power can do for him, he is, as a sole first 
cause, solely responsible for it and for all the results he 
intended, or which he might have foreseen and j)re- 
vented, and is himself the real author of all the neces- 
sary consequences of such action. 

That, as his only possible moral wrong is in his 
freely willing counter to his knowledge of moral right, 
and the knowledge by which he directs his efforts is 
here as infallible as that of Omniscience, and his power 
of will, within the sphere of that knowledge, unlimited, 
he cannot excuse himself on the ground of his own fal- 
lible nature, or even urge it in mitigation of a wrong 
effort. He must have known the wrong at the time he 
willed, or it would not be a moral wrong. He must 
have been able to will rightly, for his knowledge, which 
is the only limit to this ability, embraced all that was 
essential to action morally right. 

In this system, then, wants are pre-requisites of all 
intelligent activity. In the most common affairs of 
life, we put forth effort to provide food, raiment, and 
shelter ; and in those more important, or rather those 
more extended, they still lie at the foundation of the 
greater, or more complicated movements ; and he who 
contends for the mastery of empires, may really be 
stimulated only by the innate and seemingly insignifi- 
cant wants of his animal being, aggravated by an ex- 
clusive cultivation. From this low condition he begins 



CONCLUSION, 167 

to rise as soon as sncli wants as those of the approbation 
of himself or of others, have influence and the love of 
glory finds place. This is perhaps the first stage in 
that moral progress, of which the harmonious blending 
of love and duty in our wants is the last term. 

With wants thus essential to the development of his 
active nature, man is most bountifully provided. They 
permeate his wliole being. He has numerous physical 
wants ; his intellect wants knowledge, truth ; his aes- 
thetic nature requires the beautiful ; his moral qualities 
demand all that is right and just in principle, or noble 
in sentiment, with corresponding action ; and his re- 
ligious element requires the contemplation of the ethe- 
real, pure and holy, with a relying faith in the pro- 
tecting power and sympathy of some adorable object 
of gratitude, reverence, and love. 

Besides all these particular wants, he has the gen- 
eral want of improvement in his physical condition and 
of progress for his whole spiritual nature. The per- 
vading want of exercise for all his faculties is an im- 
portant addition to the system ; and, as if to perfect this 
apparatus within himself and make his efforts inde- 
pendent of suggestion from without, even of his own 
physical organism, his activity begets the want of re- 
pose and his repose the want of activity ; and nearly 
allied to this the want of variety, of novelty, of change 
merely as change, by which the very transitoriness of 
our enjoyments becomes a source of pleasurable activity. 

A being, with no other wants than those which spring 
from the appetites, would be lower than most brutes, 
for they evince wants for superiority of some kinds. 

The gratification of some of the physical wants, how- 
ever, being essential to our present form of existence, 



1G8 FREEDOM OF MIND IN WILLING. 

they are most imperative ; but thej are, in their nature, 
limited and temporary, when gratified ceasing to exist ; 
and, if there were no other wants, there would be an 
end of all active energy till they again recurred, aa 
seems to be the case in some animals. 

The influence of these temporal wants is, however, 
made less inconstant by the secondary want of acquisi- 
tion, or the want to provide, in advance, the means of 
gratifying the primary wants, wlien they shall recur. 
To this acquisitiveness, even when gratification of the 
temporal wants is the sole object, there seems to be no 
limit, and it may permanently become the habitual 
object of efibrt. 

The physical wants in their normal condition seem 
to be only preliminary, to teach, or form habits of per- 
severing effort, and thus fit the mind to exert its powers 
in the gratification of those nobler wants which the 
soul's progress demands. 

In these views we may observe the moral beauty 
of that arrangement by which the physical wants, 
while almost irresistibly inviting us to action and teach- 
ing us persevering efibrt, between their lessons, natu- 
rally withdraw themselves for a season and leave the 
soul free to exert its powers upon its own higher and 
nobler wants, and thus anticipate and prepare itself for 
an exclusive spiritual progress. And we may also ob- 
serve how this beautiful provision is counteracted and 
perverted, when the acquisitiveness, which, as a want 
to secure the continuous or future well being, is a bene- 
ficent provision, is cultivated only in its adaptation to 
the physical — a condition so fatal and to wliich we are 
so obnoxious, that the idea of a material Hell seems to 
have been devised and inculcated to meet and combat 



CONCLUSION. 169 

tlie evil on its own ground. In striking contrast with 
our physical wants, those of our spiritual nature are 
only fni'ther incited by gratification ; the pleasure from 
them is in the progress, and the more they are gratified, 
the more steadily they require gratification. 

The insatiable, or rather boundless wants of man's 
spiritual nature ; his want for progress, his aspiration 
for something better than he has yet attained, in the 
effort for which his activity finds its appropriate sphere, 
and his want of activity, a proper and exliaustless 
source of gratification, are essential to the harmonious 
and uninterrupted working of the system. Exclude 
tliese, and the mind, absorbed by debasing physical 
gratification, or satiated with sensuality, loses its vitali- 
ty and becomes the prey of ennui. The mind, when 
relieved from the immediate pressing cares of physical 
existence, naturally turns to the spiritual for the em- 
ployment of its activities. It seeks to lay up stores of 
knowledge as a basis for its future creative efforts, or 
as a means of present mental improvement in the ac- 
quisition. 

The child early shows a disposition to form ideal 
constructions, and with mud or blocks, to give them a 
tangible external existence. Though our first creative 
efforts are probably in the material, they are early 
transferred to the moral ; and visions of glory, renown, 
honor, as the results of lofty character and noble action, 
find place in the imagination, furnishing us with the 
materials for constructing the airy castles which flit be- 
fore the fancy and, in vanishing, leave us models of 
grace, beauty, and purity. We are thus, at an early 
pei'iod of life, introduced into the moral sphere of con- 
structive effort, and the quickening influence, which 



170 FEEEDOM OF MIND EST WILLING. 

the soul receives in tins direction, wlien the first revela- 
tions of unselfish, ennobling and romantic passion fill it 
with ideals of loveliness, grace and elevation, and in- 
spire it with lofty sentiment and energetic virtue, attests 
the beneficent provision for moral culture. 

The ideal constructions, the incipient creations of 
the mind, are sometimes themselves the proper end, or 
final object of efi^ort ; as, for instance, when by their 
imagined beauty, or perfection, which they may em- 
body as an actual creation in thought, they gratify an 
aesthetic want ; and sometimes serve as a substitute 
partially gratifying a want which demands their out- 
ward realization, but which is perhaps difiicult or im- 
possible. The mere castle-building, however, is often 
but a pleasurable exercise of the mind, which, like the 
sports of youth, is a preparation for that sterner work 
which becomes necessary, when, from the inflexible 
material of principles, we would make a construction 
which will possess the elements of dnrability, and be 
worthy of preservation. To fit these unpliant materials 
to each other in a harmonious system requires the labor 
of severe thought, and to protect it from the assaults to 
which, when constructed, it is ever exposed, demands 
constant, persevering energy and unremitting vigilanc(\ 
But here another admirable provision of our nature 
comes to our aid. It is the interest which attaches to 
everything, which we have produced by much labor 
and care. When, by earnest efi:brt, we have built up 
within us a moral structure, and by careful thought 
gradually conformed it to our ideal of moral harmony 
and beauty, we acquire that interest in its preservation, 
which nerves the energies and stimulates the vigilance, 
which are needed to sustain it against the gusts of pas- 



CONCLUSION. lYl 

Bioii, or the wily and insidious approaches of tempta- 
tion.* 

The provision which has been made for the influ' 
ence of our wants is, in this connection, not unworthy 
of note. The varied observation of material phenom- 
ena, or the flow of mental perceptions and ideas, may 
suggest a want, but this essential element of our volun- 
tary activity has not been left to any accidental occur- 
rences. Such occurrences may suggest, or provoke our 
physical wants, and present the occasions for their 
gratification ; but, without any such provocation and 
without any eiFort of our own, they will, through sbti- 
sation^ recur by an innate constitutional provision of 
our being. And there seems to be no reason to doubt 
that, by means of the moral sense, or some other con- 
stitutional provision of our moral nature, the wants with 
which the spiritual being is innately and bountifully 
furnished, also recur without our bidding, and that, for 
these, too, God has amply provided suggestion in the 
external, by the significant beauty, harmony and gran- 
deur of His own works, with their ever varying expres- 
sion appealing to the soul in that poetic language of im- 
agery and analogy, which is intuitively comprehended 
by all, and on all exerts its persuasive and elevating 
influences. For no one capable of reflection can look 
upon the exquisite models, the vast, the grand, the 
beautiful, the perfect, everywhere presented in the ex- 
ternal universe and not feel that to it there is a coun- 
terpart ; that there is something which perceives and 
appreciates, as well as something which is perceived and 
appreciated ; that within his own being there is an in- 
choate universe to him as boundless^ and which is his 

* See Appendix, Note XXXVl. 



172 FKEEDOM OF MIND IN WILLING. 

especial sphere of creative action. Here is opened to 
his efforts an infinity of space in which, as already 
shown, he is a snpreme creative first cause, a sphere 
already canopied witli twinkling thoughts, dimly reveal- 
ing the chaotic elements requiring his efforts to reduce 
to order and cultivate into beauty ; and making visible 
a darkness, which continually demands from him the 
fiat, " Let there he lightP Constructing this universe 
within is the great object of existence, the principal, if 
not the sole end of life. Happy he who, faithfully 
vrorking in the seclusion of his own allotted space, so 
constructs this internal universe, that when from the 
recent void it breaks upon the gaze of superior intelli- 
gences, all the sons of God will shout for joy ; and when 
the appointed days of his work are completed, the Great 
Architect shall Himself pronounce it good. 



BOOK IT. 



REVIEW OF EDWARDS ON THE WILL 



BOOK IT. 



BEVIEW OF EB WARDS ON TEE WILL. 



INTRODUCTION. 

The prominence wliich has been accorded to the 
work of Edwards " On the Will," marks it as the text 
for our comments on the doctrines of the necessarians. 
They regard it as the great bulwark of their creed, and 
confidently assert that the severest scrutiny of their op- 
ponents has discovered in it no vulnerable point. The 
soundness of the premises, and the cogency of the logic, 
by which he reaches his conclusions, seem indeed to be 
very generally admitted, so that, almost by common 
consent, his positions are deemed impregnable, and the 
hope of subverting them by direct attack abandoned. 

This is the more remarkable as he wholly fails to 
convince a large portion of his readers, who, tlius un- 
convinced and yet unable to detect the fallacies of the 
argument, come to regard it as an inexplicable puzzle, 
and rely on their consciousness, or appeal to revelation, 
to sanction the belief in their own free agency. 

These may furnish rational gi'ounds for belief, out 



174 EEVIEW OF EDWARDS OX THE AVILL. 

avail little in the controversy. The first is nierelj say- 
ing, I know because I know, or I believe because I be- 
lieve ; and both jDarties, with equal earnestness and 
confidence, claim that their respective views are con- 
firmed by the records of inspiration. 

In a conflict between the dicta, even of infallible 
authority, and an apparently conclusive demonstration, 
we can only infer, either thut theie is error in the dem- 
onstration, or that the dicta are not truly interpreted. 
This still leaves error, on tlie one hand or the other, to 
confuse our vision and obstruct our progress. Discard- 
ing then the method of attempting to show that this 
" iron-linked and irrefutable argument," as it has been 
termed, is unsound because its conclusions are in conflict 
with beliefs more generally accepted, or even with 
demonstrated truth, I shall seek to point out the par- 
ticular errors and fallacies by which it is vitiated and 
rendered wholly unavailing. 

Edwards's argument is threefold. First, he aims to 
prove that the mind in willing cannot determine itself. 
Next, that in willing it is determined or controlled by 
something other than itself; and then, that, as a matter 
of fact, its volitions are and must be foreknown, and 
therefore necessitated. 

These positions seem to imply an admission that 
self-control is, as I have asserted, the distinguishing 
characteristic of free action, and yet Edwards also as- 
sumes, in some of his arguments, that if the Avill, or the 
mind in willing, determines or controls its own action, 
it is still controlled, and hence not free. Upon this false 
notion of freedom, in connection with his definition of 
will, and the assumption (not strictly deducible from it) 
that will and choice are the same thing, a large portion 



INTRODUCTION. 175 

of liis reasonirig on the first two named points is 
fouiided. 

Edwards also asserts that " clK)ice is a comparative 
act," and argues as if it were the result of the compara- 
tive act. By means of these various dehnitions of the 
one word choice, he can argue that clioioe, as the result 
of a comparison, is not subject to our control, and then, 
will being the same as choice, it follows that will is not 
subject to such control, and hence is not free. I have 
endeavored to prove that choice is knowledge and not 
will, and thus to remove this fruitful source of error in 
Edwards's argument. He also on these points treats 
events, natural laws, habits, motives, &c., as if they 
were real independent powers causing certain effects. 
The errors of these views I have sought to exhibit. 

The assumed axiom that the smne causes of necessity 
produce t/u same effects^ is also made to perform an im- 
portant part in Edwards's system, and the almost uni- 
versal admission of this dogma has tended much to give 
currency to his argument. 

I have attempted to show that, even in the material 
w^orld, this law of uniformity is not one of necessity, or 
even of universal application, while in regard to mind 
it has no proper application whatever. 

For the proof that our volitions are in fact necessi- 
tated, Edwards relies on the assumption that they are 
and must be foreknown by Omniscience. In doing this, 
he has, in my view, attributed to Omniscience a neces- 
sity which could only be predicated of a being of very 
limited powers, and the argument, resting on such j^re- 
Bumption, is invalid. 

Many advocates of liberty having accepted the er- 
roneous definitions and unfounded assumptions of the 



176 EEVIEW OF EDWAKDS OX THE WILL. 

necessarians, most of which appear to be sustained 
by the authority of profound investigators, have, by 
such acceptance, been forced into false and indefensible 
positions, and hence their cause has suifei-ed in the con- 
flict. 

If it shall be found that the system I have elabo- 
rated dispels the difficulties and surmounts the obstacles 
presented by the necessarians, and that the logical con- 
clusions are thus brought into harmony with the com- 
mon sense and the almost universal convictions of man- 
kind, such result will in turn tend to confirm the views 
I have advanced in the direct argument in proof of 
liberty. Among these I would particularly note, as 
useful in the discussion upon which we are about to 
enter, the definitions of Will and of Liberty ; the re- 
marks in regard to Cause ; the nature and influence of 
Habit ; the position that knowledge in the last analysis 
is always a simple passive perception of the mind ; that 
the mind directs its action by means of its knowledge, 
and finds the i-eason for it, not in the past, but in the 
preconception of the efiects of its eifort in the future. 

By this last position the past is cut off" from present 
action, and is in no wise connected with it, except as 
the mind may in the ])ast have acquired the knowledge 
which enables it to form more accurate preconceptions 
of the future effects of various efforts, and more wisely 
to select among them, and among the various modes of 
producing the desired result. 

All these were more or less important to the reason- 
ing in proof of liberty, and I trust will now be found 
erticacious in refuting the arguments which are adduced 
against it. 



CHAPTER I. 

Edwards's definition of will. 

Edwards defines Will to be "that by wliicli the 
mind chooses anything," and adds, " The faculty of the 
will is that faculty, or power, or principle of mind, by 
which it is capable of choosing : an act of the will is the 
same as an act of choosing or choiceP (Part I. Sec. 1, 

He also identifies volition with choice a,ud preference, 
and willing, with choosing and preferring. Alluding to 
a distinction made by Locke, he says, "But the instance 
he mentions does not piove that there is anything else in 
willing but ^x\qxq\^ jpref erring P (Sec. 1, p. 2.) "And 
his willing such an alteration in his body in the present 
moment, is nothing else but his choosing, or preferring 
such an altei'ation in his body at such a moment, or his 
liking it better than the forbearance of it." * * * * 
" It will not appear by this, and such like instances, 
that there is any difference between volition 'dnd prefer- 
ence:' (Sec. 1, p. 3.) 

This definition with its explanation seems to admit 
of various constructions. From the definition itself it 
might appear that the will is a distinct entity, which 

* The quotations are from the edition of Edwards's work on the 
'Freedom of Will," published in Albany, a. d., 1804. 



178 EEVIEW OF ErnVAEDS OX THE WILL. 

the mind uses as an instrument with which to choose, 
or when it makes a choice ; or that the mind's act of 
loill is a cause of which its choice is an effect. Tlie ex- 
planations, however, seem to indicate that the definition 
is onlj intended to assei't that the act of will and the 
choosing or choice are one and the same act of the mind. 
The instances in v.'hieh he thus uses these terms as 
equivalent are very numerous, and he expressly says, 
" to will and to choose are the same thing.'" (Part 1. 
Sec. Y, p. 91.) It is not, however, clear whether in Ed- 
wards's view the act of will embraces the process of 
choosing, or is concentrated in the choice, which is the 
result of the process. When he says, " An act of choice 
or preference is a comparative act, wherein the mind 
acts in reference to two or more things, that are com- 
pared and stand in competition in the mind's view," 
(Part II. Sec. 10, p. 119,) he states \\\q process and makes 
it the act of choice, or the act of will. It is by this pro- 
cess — this comparing — that the mind chooses, and hence 
his definition of will also, in terms, embraces it. On 
the other hand it is obvious that the object, or intent 
of this comparative act, is always to obtain knowledge 
as to the merits of the things compared, and that, to 
this end, the mind must come to a conclusion, a decision, 
or judgment as to these things, otherwise the compara- 
tive act ends in nothing, leaving the mind as it began 
it, and there can then be no choice. Hence the com- 
paring is not itself the choice, nor the act of comparing, 
the act of choice, for there may be no choice in any way 
connected with such comparing. That the comparative 
act is separable from, and distinct from choice, is further 
manifest from the consideration, that, when the object 
of comparison is merely to obtain knowledge, as when I 



EDWAKDS'S DKFINiriON OF AVILL. 179 

compare two triangles to ascertain which is the greater, 
although there is comparison and a iinal decision or 
judgment, thei'e is no choice. Some other element is 
yet required. If on comparing their merits as food, I 
find beef superior to veal, and yet neither now want 
food, nor want to provide against hunger in the future, 
I do not choose beef. The whole process as completely 
ends with the knowledge^ as in the case of comparing 
tlie triangles. If, however, I wcmt food for jn-esent or 
future use, I choose beef. Choice then is knowledge 
with a co-existing want to wdiich it has a certain rela- 
tion. It is that condition of the mind, in which, wdth 
a want, it has found and knows which of two or more 
things is best adapted to its want. 

These considerations serve to show that the com- 
parative act is not the choice ; and such an hypothesis is 
contrary to other of Edwards's statements. In distin- 
guishing the understanding and will, he classes all the 
knowing abilities with the former, and says, " In 
some sense the will always follows the last dictate of 
the understanding," &c. (Part I. Sec. 2, p. 16.) If w^ill 
and choice are identical, this is to say that choice fol- 
lows the last dictate of the understanding. The object 
of the comparative act being to obtain knowledge, it is 
obvious that choice, if it be not itself the last dictate of 
the understanding, but something that follows the last 
dictate, must come after the comparison, and hence 
cannot itself be the comparison, or the act of comparing, 
and the assertion of Edwards that " choice is a com- 
parative act," is incompatible with his assertion that it 
follows the last dictate of the understanding. 

The mind's comparative act is obviously always an 
act of will. It is always its effort, or act of will to ob- 



180 KEVIEW OF EDWARDS ON THE WILL. 

tain knowledge as to the things compared ; and if the 
CDinparative act is not itself an act of choice, here is an 
act of will, which is not an act of clioice, but is a pre- 
liminary act, from which choice may or may not re- 
sult. Choice being but the perception, the knowledge, 
that one thing is superior to another, never is an act 
any more than the knowledge that 2 + 2=4 is an act. 
The end sought by this efibrt, or act of will, sometimes, 
and only sometimes, is selection, or choice ; and even 
then, to make the act of will itself the choice, confounds 
the act with its object. That the comparative act, made 
for the purpose of choosing, is an act of will, sustains 
Edwards's assertion that, " the will is that hy which the 
mind choos/s,^' but makes it futile as a definition ; for 
it thus chooses only in the same sense as it docs any 
other thing. It is by the mind's effort, or act of will, 
that we remember, or move our hand ; and hence, in 
this view, it would be as pertinent to say, the will is 
that by which the mind remembers, or by which it 
moves the hand, as to say it is that by which it chooses. 
This shows that, tjiongh in this view it may be true that 
the mind, in its act of will, — using will as an instiai- 
ment, or otherwise, — is a cause of which clioice is some- 
times an effect, yet, with such construction, Edwards's 
definition is wholly unavailing. 

It may be said that in every act of will, or effort to 
compare, or to remember, or to do anything else, there 
is a choice of that act. But this must be an antecedent 
choice ; and the act of will, in comparing or in remem- 
bering, cannot itself be the choice, lohich jpreceded it, 
but is the object or thing chosen. If it be said that the 
choosing to compare or to remember, is itself the act 
of will, it brings us to the remaining construction of 



EDWAKDs's DEFINITION OF WILL. 181 

Edwards's definition, and raises the question as to 
whether the act of choice and the act of will, or choos- 
ing and willing, are one and the same. 

Every choice must be preceded by a comparison ; 
and if this comparison is a comparative act of the mind, 
it is an act of will, and if will is the same as choice, this 
comparative act is itself a choice, which also must have 
been preceded by a comparative act, which again is a 
choice, which also must have been preceded by a com- 
parative act, and so on, ad iniinitum, involving the ab- 
surdity, which Edwards so often charges on his oppo- 
nents, of a series of acts of will, or choice, to which 
there could be no first act. If then in saying that, " an 
act of choice is a comparative act wherein the mind acts 
in reference to two or more things compared," &c., he 
means that there is only one act of the mind, that of 
comparing, and that this is itself the act of choice, the 
statement is manifestly incorrect and contradictory to 
other of his own statements ; and if he means that " the 
mind's act in reference to the two or more things that 
are compared," &c. is another act distinct from the act 
of comparing, of which it is a result, and that this is the 
mind's act of choice, then, as this act of choice requires 
a prior act of comparison, which prior act is an act of 
will, and, of course, in his system, also an act of choice, 
it must require a prior act of comparison, and so on, ad 
infinitum, involving the absurdity before mentioned. 

To avoid this difiiculty of action in a finite being, 
without the possibility of any first act, which is thus 
involved in Edwards's definitions, and grows imme- 
diately out of using choice, in the popular sense, as the 
result of a comparison, and also as a synonym for will, 
it ma} be said, that though choice implies comparison, 



182 EEVIEW OF EDWARDS ON THE WILL. 

sucli comparison is not of necessity a comparative ad / 
but that tlie comparison, and its resulting choice, may 
be immediately perceived and apprehended by the 
mind, without any previous eflfort, or act of will. Such 
hypothesis is not only quite conceivable, but seems to 
be in harmony with what I have asserted in Book 1st, 
as to the mind's sense of knowing by simple mental per- 
ception, without effort or act of will. But, Edwards 
says, " An act of choice or preference, is a comparative 
act wherein the mind acts ; " and though the mind may 
passively be the subject of sensation and emotion, or 
the recipient of knowledge, it cannot be passive in its 
own act. Supposing, however, that calling the com- 
parison an act is an inadvertence or error, and that, 
without any action, the mind may passively perceive 
the relative merits of the things in themselves, and thus 
arrive at the knowledge of then' equality, or inequality ; 
or may thus perceive, or apprehend the superior adap- 
tation of one of the things compared, to its want, and 
thus passively reach a choice, still such choice is then 
admitted to be a perception, and not an act of the 
mind, and hence cannot be the mind's act of will ; it 
can only be knowledge, or, at most, knowledge com- 
bined with feeling, which would still prove that choice 
and will are not the same. Edwards, however, denies 
that the mind can thus passively decide as to the things 
compared. To show this, I quote one of his own argu- 
ments, changing the word volition to choice, which he 
uses as its synonym. " To say the faculty, or the soul 
determines its own choice, but not by any act, is a con- 
tradiction. Because for the soul to direct, decide, or de- 
termine anything, is to act ; and this is supposed ; for 
the soul is here spoken of as being a cause in this affair, 



Edwards's definition of will. 183 

bringing something to pass, or doing sometliing ; or, 
which is the same thing, exerting itself in order to an 
effect, which effect is the determination of clioice^ or the 
particular kind and manner of an act of will. But 
certainly this exertion or action is not the same with 
the effect, in order to the production of which it is ex- 
erted, but must be something prior to it." (Part II. 
Sec. 2, p. 48.) The last sentence also seems to lead 
directly to the conclusion that, " the comparative act" 
is not the " act of choice," but must be prior to it, which 
confirms the position I have just taken in regard to tlie 
quotation that " an act of choice is a comparative act,'' 
&c. After this, however, he says, " Yolition in this 
case, is a comparative act attending and following a 
comparative view." (Part 11. Sec. 10, p. 120.) The 
comparison may be an act of will, and the choice is 
sometimes a result of such an act. It is manifest that 
every act of comparison does not result in a choice, or 
in a subsequent act of will ; and Edwards, though he 
does not specifically distinguish between those which 
do and those which do not, has probably indicated the 
kinds of cases he had in view as the ground of his 
definitions, in this statement : — " yet I trust it will be 
allowed b}^ all, that in every act of will there is an act 
of choice ; that in every volition there is a preference, 
or a prevailing inclination of the soul, whereby the soul, 
at that instant, is out of a state of perfect indiff'erence, 
with respect to the direct object of the volition. So 
that in every act, or going forth of the will, there is 
some preponderation of the mind, or inclination, one 
way rather than another ; and the soul had rather 
have^ or do one thing than another, or than not to have, 
or do that thing ; and that then, where there is abso- 



184 EEYIEW OF EDWARDS ON THE WILL, 

lutely no preferring, or elioosiiig, but a perfect continu- 
ing equilibrium, there is no volition." (Part I, Sec. 1, 
pp. 5, 6.) Here the condition of every act of will is an 
act of comparison, resulting in the mind's preferring, or 
choosing to " have^ or do one thing rather than another, 
or not to have, or do that thing." 

In making an act of choice the same as an act of 
will, Edwards, of course, makes the choice the last act 
of the mind in relation to the eft'ect, or the change it 
seeks to produce. He thus expressly asserts this : 
" And God has so made and established the human 
nature, the soul being united to a body in proper state, 
that the soul preferring or choosing such an immediate 
exertion, or alteration of the body, such an alteration 
instantaneously follows." (Part I. Sec. 1, p. 3.) 

Our immediate object or intent in every act of will 
is to effect change in some portion of our own being. 
The above quotation relates to and asserts this only of 
bodily movement ; in other places this truth is recog- 
nized with regard to mental action also. The act of 
choice then, in Edwards's system, as the act of will, is 
our last act or agency in producing an efi'ect, or in 
doing anything ; and, so far as we are concerned, our 
act of will is the doing of that thing. 

The cases in which, as already quoted, Edwards 
makes the preferring, or choosing, when the soul " had 
rather liave^ or <fo," &c. are distinguishable. 

When I prefer or would rather have one thing than 
another thing, I have, on comparison, decided or judg- 
ed, i. e. come to the knowledge that the one thing is 
better adapted to my want than the other ; and when I 
would rather have this one thing than not to have it, I 
have, on comparing the having with not having, de- 



Edwards's DEFiNixroN of will. 185 

cided or judged, that the advantages of having are 
greater than of not liaving, and that, as between mere 
having and not having, I would rather have. So far I 
clioose to have, and, if choice were my last agency in 
the matter, then, so far as I am concerned, I would im- 
mediately have. But it is obvious that to have, I may 
still be obliged to do. The comparing the having with 
not having is itself the mind's efibrt or act of will, but 
is not itself a choice. And the choice, when reached as 
a result of comparing, has none of the characteristics 
of an act of will. It is not that last agency which is 
immediately followed by the effect ; and this choosing 
to have does not immediately move, or change any por- 
tion of our being. The choice to have is not imme- 
diately followed by our having, or even by our trying 
to have, or doing anything to have. As in other cases, 
in the act of comparing the having with the not having, 
we have an act of will which is not a choice ; and, in 
the result of the comparison, we have a choice, which 
is not an act of will. To extend the choice to the cor- 
responding effect, M-e must do. And if we do not know 
how to produce that effect, our first doing may be to 
examine and find how to do it. That to thus examine 
is the mode in such cases, I have before suggested is 
intuitively known, and thus becomes a primary founda- 
tion of action. But if, as to the manner of doing, we 
already have sufficient intuitive, or habitual knowl- 
edge, the preliminary examination may not be resorted 
to, and, in that case, the act to be done is not, as com- 
pared with other acts, the subject of choice, and we 
come directly to the question, whether, in view of the 
advantages of having, and of any pain or other ex- 
pected consequence of the doing, we will choose to do. 



18G EEVIEW OF EDWARDS ON THE WILL. 

The thing may be preferred to any other thing, and we 
may have chosen to have rather than not liave it, and 
know what to do in order to have, and yet, for good 
reasons, we may still decide, or choose, not to do. The 
comparison is now between doing and not doing, with 
the advantages of the results of doing — the having — on 
the one hand, contrasted with any pain or unpleasant- 
ness attending the doing, on the other. The question, 
as to whether choice in any ease is an act of will, is now 
narrowed down to the case of choosing between doing 
and not doing. This is really the same case as that of 
the mind's deciding between acting and not acting, to 
which I liave allnded (Book I. p. 61)), as the result of a 
preliminary act to obtain knowledge, preceding the 
mind's final act of will, and liable to be confounded 
with it ; and, in conformity to what was then argued, 
I will here observe that, if the choice between doing and 
not doing is the last act of the mind prior to the eflfect 
or end sought, then the choosing to do concludes our 
agency in the matter as completely as would choosing 
not to do, and that, if so, there can be no difference 
between that condition of mind which succeeds a choice 
to do and a choice not to do, which is contrary to ob- 
served fact. The act of will, by which we compare one 
contemplated action with another or with non-action, 
is not itself that contemplated action, but is a pre- 
liminary effort to obtain knowledge in reference to 
such contemplated action or non-action. When we 
choose to have, our choice may be realized by some 
other agency than our own. though on such agency 
our mere choosing, not externally manifested, can 
have no influence ; but, when we will to do, or to try 
to do, we must ourselves be the agent ; and when, in 



EDWAEDS'S DEFimnON OF WILL. 187 

siich a case, we choose the doing, rather than the not 
doing, if our clioice, as the last agency of the mind, is 
itself the doing, then the choice and the thing chosen 
are one and the same, which is absurd. This makes it 
evident that, as the choosing an apple among various 
fruits is not itself the apple, or the choosing an act 
among various acts is not itself the act, so choosing a 
doing is not itself the doing ; and hence even the choice 
to do, that choice which most nearly approaches the 
effect, never reaches the doing, or trying to do ; but 
that that action, that effort or energy by which the 
mind accomplishes or executes its decision, judgments, 
preferences, choices, &c., comes between these decisions, 
&c., and the effect, and, of course, is something distinct 
from the choice ; and, if M'e look a little beyond the 
clioice to do to the act of will, which is the trying to do, 
and which when successful, always moves some portion 
of our own being, we lind that, as to this moving, we 
know, and can know, only one mode of doing it, and 
that is by willing it ; so that in this, the peculiar and 
exclusive province of the will, there is neither occasion, 
opportunity, or possibility of any choice. It may fur- 
ther be observed, as at least conceivable, that, in some 
cases, the question of doing, or not doing, may be so 
settled, either intuitively or habitually, that no com- 
parison is needed ; and in this case, we proceed to the 
doing without comparing it with not doing, or clioosing 
between them. If, as just suggested, the particular act 
to be done, or not done, has been in like manner intui- 
tively or habitually settled, then the action follows the 
choice of the effect to be produced without any subse- 
quent choice ; and the choice of an effect requiring an 



188 KEVIEW OF EDWARDS ON THE WILL. 

intermediate act, cannot itself be that intermediate act, 
i. e. the choosing is not the wilhng. 

As ah'eady intimated, one objection to using the 
word choice as will^ and, also, as an act, or the resnlt 
of an act of comparison, is that it confounds the under- 
standing and the will ; or knowledge, and we may add, 
feeling, with effort. In applying some of the numerous 
terms and phrases, which Edwards uses as equivalents 
for choice, this becomes more apparent. For instance, 
" So that, whatever names we call the act of the will by, 
choosing, refusing, approving, disapproving, liking, dis- 
liking, embi'acing, rejecting, determining, directing, 
commanding, forbidding, inclining, or being averse, a 
being pleased, or displeased with ; all may be reduced 
to this of choosing." (Part I. Sec. 1, p. 2.) To use the 
one term chooaing for " commanding," or " forbidding," 
and also for " being pleased, or displeased with," is 
giving a wide range to a word intended to be applied 
with philosophical accuracy. Our " being pleased, or 
displeased w^ith," may perhaps be the same as choosing^ 
but cannot be an act of will any more than our hearing 
the sound of a cannon is an act of will. The pleasure, 
or displeasure, and the sound, are all perceptions, emo- 
tions, or sensations, and not acts of will, or even sub- 
ject to the mind's control by its acts of will. 

The equality or superiority of one thing, as com- 
pared with another, is a fact found, not made, or done. 
It is apprehended or perceived, not willed ; and hence, 
such final result of a comparison is not an act of will, 
but knowledge acquired, at least in most cases, by an 
act of will. And choice is but the final result of a com- 
parison in which the mind h.di's, found or come to know 
the fact, that one thing, in its adaptation to a personal 



Edwards's definition of will 189 

want, is superior to some other. It too is a fact fonnd, 
not made or done, and it too is knowledge and not will, 
nor an act of will. The essential element of choice is 
that result of a comparison which is a decision or judg- 
ment that one thing suits us better than another ; which 
decision or judgment, in all its degrees of certainty or 
probability, is a perception and not an effort. It is in 
the sphere of knowledge and not of will. We cannot 
by an act of will directly choose, or alter our choice. 
When we speak of making a choice, we allude to the 
act of will by which we compare to ascertain which is 
best adapted to our want, — which suits us best, — and 
finding this is said to l)e inaking onr choice. In com- 
paring, the mind is active ; but in the final result, the 
perception that one thing is greater than another, as 
that the whole is greater than its part, or that one thing 
is better adapted to our want than another, making, in 
the latter case, our choice, the niind is passive, as much 
so in the one case as in the others, and can no more alter 
the one by a mere act of will, than it can the other. 
So too, we can as freely will that mental action by 
which we compare, as that muscular action by which 
we seek to move a heavy weight ; but cannot, in either 
case, by willing determine the result. This using as a 
synonym for will, the term clioice, which means knowl- 
edge, of a particular kind, opens the way for various 
forms of the sophism that, as will is choice, and choice 
is knowledge, and the mind cannot control its knowl- 
edge, i. e. cannot vary the facts or truths it finds, it 
cannot control or determine its will, because it, being 
choice, is also knowledge. This is perhaps even more 
clear in that other expression for the act of will and of 
choosing, " a being pleased, or displeased with," already 



190 EKYIKW OF EDWARDS ON THE WILL. 

allnded to ; and also in that similar expression, " ap- 
pearing most agreeable, or pleasing to the mind," which 
Edwards thus fully identifies with choice : — " I have 
rather chosen to express myself thus, that the will al- 
ways is as the greatest apparent good^ or, as what ap- 
pears mmt agreeahle^ is, than to say that the will is 
determined by the gi-eatest apparent good, or by what 
seems most agreeable ; because an appearing most 
agreeable or pleasing to the mind, and the mind's pre- 
ferring and choosing, seem hardly to be properly and 
perfectly distinct. If strict propriety of speech be in- 
sisted on, it may more properly be said, that the vohin- 
tary action which is the immediate consequence and 
fruit of the mind's volition or choice, is determined by 
that wliicih appears most agreeable, than that the 
preference or choice itself is." (Part I. Sec. 1, p. 11.) 
This directly asserts that the voluntary action is the 
immediate consequence of the mind's volition, or 
choice. It also, less directly, identifies an appearing 
most agreeable to the mind with choice ; hence making 
"this appearing most agreeable" the determiner, and 
also the immediate antecedent of the " voluntary ac- 
tion ; " and, in harmony with this, in the concluding 
sentence, refers the act of volition (choice) and the 
appearing most agreeable to the same cause — to that 
'' which causes it to appear most agreeable." But 
this appearing most agreeable to the mind, and, of 
course, that choice, or preference, which is identified 
with it, is not, as Edwards assumes, the mind's act of 
will, but its perception, which is knowledge, or, in this 
case, knowledge combined with sensation or emotion. 
The mind, after having by the comparison come to 
hnow what is most agreeable, may passively enjoy the 



Edwards's definition or will. 191 

" appearing most agreeable," without any act of will. 
Now it is evident tliat the mind by its own action can- 
not control this " being pleased, or displeased with," 
nor this " appearing most agreeable to the mind," and, 
if these are the same as choosing, and choosing is the 
same as an act of will, then the mind cannot control its 
act of will. If these terms and phrases are really syn- 
onymous, then by substituting equivalents, we may de- 
duce from the simple expression, a man's willing is as 
he wills, that, his being pleased is as he wills, and other 
like erroneous consequences. 

It might however still be urged that this making 
the act of choice or choosing, itself the act of will, does 
not conflict with the mind's freedom in willing ; for if, 
as Edwards says, " For the soul to act voluntarily is 
evermore to act electively ; " and if, in electing and 
choosing its act, it directs and determines its own act, 
it is then free in such action ; for this directing its own 
action is the very essence of freedom. Still to this, un- 
der Edwards's definition, it might be replied, that the 
choosing is not selecting an act, but is itself the act, 
and as such is the last agency of the mind, and that, 
after this, there is no act for it to do ; and hence, the 
mind's liberty to direct its action, as above stated, be- 
gins just when there is no action to direct, and amounts 
to nothing. 

In thus shutting out the effort, which I suppose to 
follow our choice of the modes of doing, or our choice to 
do rather than not to do, and to constitute the doing, 
Edwards consistently asserts that our only freedom con- 
sists in producing the effect we choose to produce. 
But as he makes choice the last agency of the mind in 
producing this eflFect, this is to say that, wlienever 



11)2 KEviEW OF i:dwakds ox the will. 

choice is followed by the effect chosen, the mind, in its 
action, is free ; and, when our choice is not so followed, 
the mind's action is not free ; thus making a subsequent 
event change or make an existence in the past, which 
is absurd. 

In making choice and preference and their equiva- 
lents identical with will, Edwards immediately encoun- 
ters some of the difficulties to which I have alluded ; and 
among the Urst. that of there being preliminary acts of 
comparing, resulting in choices or preferences, which 
have no tendency to move mind or body, which is 
always the characteristic of an act of will, as recognized 
by himself; and, if any one doubts it, he can easily sat- 
isfy himself by seeking to produce some eflect, without 
commencing with some change in his own being. Al- 
luding to a statement of Locke, that " the word ^jr^^T"- 
ring seems best to express the act of volition," but 
that " it does it not precisely ; for," says he, " though 
a man may prefer flying to walking, yet who can say 
he ever wills it ?" Edwards remarks, "Bnt the instance 
he mentions does not prove that there is anything else 
in willing^ but \nexe\j preferring • for it should be con- 
sidered what is the next and immediate ol)ject of the 
will, with respect to a man's walking, or any other ex- 
ternal action ; which is not being removed from one 
place to another, on the earth, or through the air ; these 
are remoter objects of preference ; but such or such 
an immediate exertion of himself. The thing nextly 
chosen or preferred when a man wills to walk, is not his 
being removed to such a place where he would be, but 
i-uch an exertion and motion of his legs and feet, &c., in 
order to it. And his willing such an alteration in 
liis body in the present moment, is nothing else but 



Edwards's definition ov avill. 198 

his choosing or prefemng an alteration in liis hody at 
such a moment, or his hking it better than the for- 
bearance of it." (Part I. Sec. 1, pp. 2, 3.) But, from 
this statement, it appears that, before the man had 
" chosen, or preferred such an exertion and motion of 
]iis legs and feet," he had already chosen or preferred 
to be moved to another place ; and, if choice or pref- 
erence is the same as will, he must, at the same time, 
have willed to be moved to that other place ; but, in- 
stead of this, Edwards asserts that he willed something, 
which, as he suggests, is entirely distinct and different 
from such choice, viz. : " an exertion and motion of his 
legs and feet ; " and " not his being removed to such a 
place, where he would be ; " so, also, he says, " though 
a man may be said remotely to choose or prefer flying ; 
yet he does not choose or prefer, incline to or desire, 
under circumstances in view, any immediate exertion 
of the members of the body in order to it ; because he 
has no expectation that he should obtain the desired end 
by any such exertion ; and he does not prefer, or incline 
to, any bodily exertion or effort under this apprehended 
circumstance, of its being wholly in vain." (Pait I. 
Sec. 1, p. 3.) By " remotely to choose, or prefer fly- 
ing," Edwards cannot mean remotely in regard to time. 
If he does, certainly such a choice or preference cannot 
be an act of will ; for, though we may perceive that an 
occasion for action in the future will arise, and may 
intend such action then, action itself must always be in 
the present. If I am not now acting, I am not acting 
at all. I may now be active in comparing various con- 
ceivable future results, and in laying plans to effect 
those which I deem most desirable, or choose ; and 
those plans may involve action at some future time, but 
9 



lOi KEVIEW OF EDWARDS OX THE WILL. 

cannot now be an act in that future. All this is only 
providing knowledge for future use, if tlie occasion for 
it occurs. The choice, too, as between the various re- 
sults, is in the present, though the subjects of the com- 
parison may only be perceived in the future. 

But even if a man may choose in the future, it is at 
least equally certain, that a man may choose at the 
present time, to fly ; and the subsequent remark shows 
that Edwards merely means, that the choice or prefer- 
ence for flying is remote from an action ^ that there is 
not " any tTnraediate exertion of the members of bis 
body in order to it ; " that is, the mind makes no exer- 
tion to move the members of the body in order to fly ; 
for by " exertion of the members of the body," he can- 
not mean exertion made by these m&tnbers., but only, 
that they are the subjects of the mincfs exertions. The 
statement of Edwards, then, amounts to this, that the 
diflerence between a man's preferring to walk, and 
walking, and preferring to fly, and not flying, is, that 
in the former case, the preferring is followed by an ex- 
('Hion^ and, in the latter, it is not ; thus substantially 
confirming my views and definitions. But, as, even in 
Edwards's view, this preferring the exertion of the 
members of the body in order io flying, is distinct from 
preferring to fly, then, though a man willed such an 
exertion, he would be willing a distinct thing from the 
flying which he preferred ; and his preferring flying- 
was still a preferring, growing out of a comparison of 
different modes of bodily movement, without any will- 
ing. But, in Edwards's system, when the mind had 
compared and judged, or decided, and the preference 
for flying M^as reached, the flying was aheady willed, 
and the subsequent fact of flying, or not flying, could 



EDWAKDS'S DEFINITION OF WILL. 195 

not alter the prior fact of preferring or willing, wliicli 
had already existed. All this difficulty and confusion 
evidently grow out of the attempt to inake choice and 
will identical. 

It is obvious that a man, on comparing flying with 
walking, may prefer the former, as apparentl^^ a more 
graceful and ra])id mode of moving. Up to the point 
of preference, or choice, there is no difference — touch- 
ing subsequent action, or non-action — between his pre- 
feiTing to walk and his preferring to fly, and that diflfer- 
ence, by which, in the one case, he does or tries to do 
what he prefers, and, in the other, does not, must come 
after this preference is decided and established. The ex- 
ertion^ which Edwards practically admits as constituting 
the difference in the two cases of choosing to walk and 
choosing to fly, must then come after the choice. He 
has, however, as before shown, placed choice in imme- 
diate contiguity with the effect, and thus, having left 
no room between, must of necessity crowd this exertion 
either into the choice, on the one hand, or into the 
eft'ect, on the other ; and though his views generally 
favor tlie former, in this particular case, he speaks of 
the exertion as the thing chosen, which, of course, is not 
the same as the choice, but, on his statements, must be 
the immediate effect of the choice. His expression, 
" exertion and motion of his legs and feet," seems to 
imply tliat the exertion is something distinct from the 
motion, and that both are of the legs mid feet ,' while 
his other expression, " exertion, on alteration of the 
body," admits of the inference that they are one and the 
same thing, or that one is a substitute for the other. 
It is, however, certain that exertion must be of the mind, 
and that " bodily exertion," and similar phrases, only 



196 RKVIEW OF EDWARDS ON THE WILL, 

designate the subject of the exertion, and not the agent 
maldijg the effort. Exertion, then, as used by Ed- 
wards, must be that action of the mind, which is the 
immediate antecedent of the effect ; and Edwards has 
thus practically, though unconsciously, been oWiged 
to admit into his system if not into his own mind, the 
element which I have placed between the judgment, 
or choice, and th.e effect, or change indicated by that 
judgment, or choice ; and, in some way, probably by 
the constraining forms of conventional language, we 
have been led to apply to it, the very similar terms, ex- 
ertion and effort. 

As he also makes the act of will, by whatever name 
he may designate it, the immediate antecedent of the 
eff'ect, he must, in admitting a mental exertion which 
must come after the choice, also virtually admit, that 
this exertion by the mind is the mind's act of will. 
Having, however, in his system, no space between the 
choice and the effect, he is compelled, as a logical ne- 
cessity, to include this exertion either in choice, and 
thus, in some instances, as before stated, make the 
choice the same as the thing chosen ; or, to avoid this, 
put the exertion into the eff"ect, including it in the same 
category with hodily motion^ thus confounding things 
so widely diff'erent, so very distinct, as the motion of 
matter, and effbrt, or endeavor ; and here again also 
confounding the choice with the things chosen. 

Under the views which I have asserted in Book I, 
we would find the distinction in the two cases of choos- 
ing to walk and choosing to fly, in the difference of our 
knowledge of the two. The want may be, to be moved 
to another place, and a man not knowing which mode 
of movement to adopt, on comparing the motion of a 



Edwards's definition of will. 107 

bird with that of an ox, may prefer tlie flying to tlio 
walking ; but if he knows no mode of flying he cannot 
practically even attempt it, any more than one who, 
comparing the past and present, should prefer living in 
the last century, can make eflbrt to live in it. That his 
want of knowledge of a mode makes the real diiferenee 
in the two cases is obvious from the fact, that if a man 
has any faith, the sliglitest belief, that, by swinging iiis 
arras and kicking the air, or by any other acts in his 
power, he can fly, he can make the eflbrt, can will to 
fly, as well as will to walk, and that many persons, 
having faith in some conceivable mode, have made 
very earnest and persistent eflbrts to fly, bringing all 
their knowledge of materials and mechanical combina- 
tions into requisition for that ohject ; and the eflbrt it- 
self was as real and as perfect as though it had been 
successful. In birds this knowledge is probably intui- 
tive, and they, no doubt, will flying as readily as walk- 
ing. 

Edwards, in defining will, as he says, " without any 
metaphysical refining," evidently intended to use the 
term choice in its popular sense; but if, in this use, it 
admits of such latitudi nous and various application, it is 
manifestly unfit for philosophical analysis. But even 
if choice is sometimes popularly used as an equivalent 
for will, such use is by no means universal, as it should 
be to make it even one ground of identity. We say 
choose, or choosing an apple ; but never will, or will- 
ing an apple ; and, generally, the term choice seems 
applicable to external objects, while an act of will can 
relate only to changes in our own being. If, when we 
say, a man does a thing, because he chooses to do it, or 
a man does a thing, because he wills to do it, we intend 



193 REVIEW OF EDWARDS ON THE WILL. 

to express the same thing, we may still mean in each 
expression to combine both choice and will, as distinct 
snbjects. Both expressions may be elliptical ; choice 
being unstated in the one, and the act of will in the 
other. But more generally, I think the former expres- 
sion implies an examination, a comparison, the result of 
which furnishes a reason for the doing ; while the latter 
applies to that hasty, or capricious doing, which is not 
founded on such reason. 

To recapitulate : Edwards makes willing and choos- 
ing, or an act of will and an act of choice, identical ; 
and also makes the willing the last agency of the mind 
in producing an effect. Pie also makes choice either a 
comparative act, or the result of a comparative act. 
These two definitions of the term choice seem to me 
philosophically incompatible, and as unwarranted even 
by vulgar use. In the first place, the comparative act 
is not itself the choice, but a pi'eliminary act of mind, of 
which choice is in some cases the object ; and hence there 
is an aft of will, which is not itself a choice. Again, if 
choice is the result of an act of comparison, and this re- 
sult is, as Edwards says, also an act of will, or the last 
agency of the mind in producing an effect, then this 
choice must have been preceded by an act of compari- 
son, which was an act of wnll, and, as such, bemg also 
choice, it too must have been preceded by another aqt 
of comparison, and so on ad infinitum. If it be ad- 
mitted that the sei'ies may be traced back till we come 
to a comparison and choice which are simple percep- 
tions of tlie mind and not acts of will, then we have a 
choice which is not an act of will, and which evidently 
pertains to the sphere of knowledge, or, in Edwards's 
division, to that of the understanding, and not to that 



Edwards's definition of will. 199 

of the will. And when we trace the series forward to 
where the mind lias decided as to what change it would 
have, or what its want indicates, and also as to the 
mode of effecting it, and come to the last decision, or 
choice, as to whether to do, or not to do ; then, if choice 
is the last agency of the mind, the choice to do, to it as 
completely ends the matter as the choice not to do, leav- 
ing no room for the subsequent difference in the con- 
ditions of the mind in the two cases ; and further, if 
this choice is itself the act of will, or the last agency 
of the mind, it is, so far as the mind is concerned, also 
the doing, and the choice and the thing chosen are one 
and the same thing. If it be said that the definition, 
"the will is that by which the n)ind chooses any- 
thing," means that the act of comparing by which the 
mind chooses is an act of will, then this definition 
is futile, because we could, in the same sense, say 
that tlie will is that by which we remember, or move 
our muscles, or do any thing else ; and besides, this is 
not the sense in which Edwards uses it. Even as re- 
gards the act to be done, we do not always select or 
choose it by a preliminary act comparing it with the 
other acts ; for, in all those cases of instinctive, or ha- 
bitual action, in which the one mode, and only the one, 
is intuitively known, or has been determined by previous 
and repeated experience, we do not delay action to com- 
pare and choose ; and in every act of will, as it must 
have for its object to move some portion of mind or 
body, for which we know only the one mode of will, or 
effort, there can be no choice as to the mode. 

And finally, Edwards himself, in using choice as 
will, and identifying choosing with willing, meets with 
the very difiiculties we have indicated, and is obliged 



200 REVIEW OF EDWARDS ON THE WILL. 

practically to admit exertion, — effort — as intervening 
between the choice and the effect chosen. That these 
errors in definition, or varied application of the same 
terms, lead to important errors, I trust, already appears, 
and will become more palpable as we proceed in the 
examination of his argument. I will only add, tliat, if 
the arguments I have here presented are found to be 
fallacious, or insufficient, and it shall still appear that 
choice is not a mere perception, or is not tlmt knowledge 
which results from a prior comparison ; but is an action 
of the mind, deciding by an act of will, in conformity 
to the knowledge it acquired by comparing ; then, as it 
is not this knowledge which thus acts, but the active 
agent — the mind — directing its own action by means of 
this knowledge, if we carry back the domain of action, 
or will, to choice, we also extend the mind's freedom in 
action over the same ground ; for, the mind's directing 
its own action constitutes its freedoi :. 



CHAPTEK n. 

LIBEKTY AS DEFINED BY BDWAEDS. 

Of the term liberty, so important in this inquirj", 
Edwards says, " The plain and obvious meaning of the 
words Freedom and Liberty^ in common speech, is 
power, opportunity, or advantage, that any one has to 
do as he pleases / or, in other words, his being free from 
liindrance, or impediment in the way of doing, or con- 
ducting in any respect as he wills. ^ And the contrary 
to liberty, whatever name M'e call that by, is a person's 
being hindered, or unable to conduct as he will, or being 
necessitated to do otherwise." (Part I. Sec. 5, p. 36.) It 
is manifest that the willing is not here deemed a doing, 
nor the doing a willing, for this would make Edwards 
say that freedom is power to do as one does, or to will 
as one wills. This power to do as one wills, must then 
mean power to produce the effect for which the act of 
will is put forth. 

This power that any one has of doing as he wills, 
he subsequently contends, is the only liberty which man 
possesses ; and, in tlie same section with the above, he 
Bays, " but the word as used by Arminians, Pelagians 
and others, who oppose the Oalvinists, has an entirely 
different signification " (p. 38) ; thus clearly intimating, 

* See Appendix, Note XXXVII. 
9* 



202 REVIEW OF EDWARDS ON THE WILL. 

as he defends the Calvinistic view, that only his oppo- 
nents use it in a different sense. Now, it seems some- 
what remarkable, that this human liberty, if it exists, 
should be placed, not in the acts of willing, of which the 
willing agent is conscious as his ow'n acts, but, in a sub- 
sequent performance, in which Edwards admits and as- 
serts the human being is hot conscious of being an actor 
at all, and does not know who, or what the performers 
are. Such a liberty is but the liberty which a man, 
powerless to move himself, may have in being actually 
moved by some other power, which to him is unknown. 
If the willing is not considered as a doing, and this 
liberty in doing as one wills is the only human liberty, 
then, of course, the raind of man has no liberty in will- 
ing ; and the decision of the main inquiry as to the 
liberty of the mind in willing is involved in that of the 
correctness of Edwards's definition of the word liberty ; 
the assertion of which begs the question, for if the only 
liberty comes after the willing, the act of the mind in 
willing is excluded from it. 

If, on the other hand, the willing is considered as a 
doing, then, in the act of willing, the liberty, which, by 
the terms of this definition, is poioer to do as one wills, 
becomes, po^^er to will as one wills, or do as one does, 
and, as this power must be admitted, liberty in such act 
of will is immediately deducible from the definition. 
In his Sec. 4, p. 35, Edwards directly aserts that " in 
this case," {i. e. when willing is also the doing,) " not 
only is it true that it is easy for a man to do the thing 
if he will, but the very willing is the doing ; w^hen 
once he has willed, the thing is performed, and nothing 
else remains to be done." One's liberty in willing may 
be a power to will as he pleases, which is self-direction 



LIBEETr AS DEFINED BY EDWARDS. 203 

of effort, by means of knowledge in the form of a per- 
ception of what will suit him best, and tlie confusion in 
Edwards's argument here arises from his assuming that 
the phrase "as he pleases" is equivalent to "as he 
wills," which he has before asserted in his definition of 
will. It is one form of the difficulty which continually 
arises from his making will synonymous with choice, 
preference, and other terms or phrases of like import. 

When we have a want, and contemplate the means 
of gratifying it, we find what change will gratify ; what 
action or effort will effect the change ; and then whether 
to make the effort or not. In all these cases the knowl- 
edge thus found is, at least very generally, a choice 
among things compared, and it seems obvious that if 
freedom in doing is defined to be doing as one pleases 
or chooses^ freedom in willing should, in analogy to 
it, be willing as one chooses. From this harmonious 
order Edwards excluded himself by his definitions mak- 
ing will and choice identical ; though in his reasoning, 
as will hereafter appear, he assumes that the distinguish- 
ing feature of a free act of will is its conformity to a 
previous choice of the act ; and this, as choosing the 
act is the consummation of our knowledge relating to 
that act, is in conformity to the views I have stated in 
Book I. 



CHAPTER III. 

NATURAL AND MOKAL NECESSITY. 

Edwards makes much use of the distinction between 
natural and moral necessity, which phrases he thus de- 
fines : — " And sometimes by moral necessity is meant 
that necessity of connection and consequence, which arises 
from such 'moral causes as tlie strength of inclination, 
or motives, and the connection which there is in many 
cases between these and. such certain volitions and ac- 
tions. And it is in this sense, that 1 use the phrase 
moral necessity in the following discourse. By natural 
necessity^ as applied to men, 1 mean such necessity as 
men are under, through the force of natural causes, as 
distinguished from what are called moral causes ; such 
as habits and dispositions of the heart and moral mo- 
tives and inducements. Thus men placed in certain 
circumstances are the subjects of particular sensations 
by necessity ; they feel pain when their bodies are 
wounded ; they see the objects presented before them 
in a clear light, when their eyes are opened ; so they 
assent to the truth of certain propositions, as soon as the 
terms are understood, as that two and two make four, 
that black is not white, that two parallel lines can never 
cross one another ; so, by a natural necessity, men's 



NATURAL AND MORAL NECESSITY. 205 

bodies move downwards, wheu there is nothing to sup- 
port them." (Part I. Sec. 4, pp. 27, 28.) 

Edwards further says, " When I use this distinction 
of moral and natural neGessity, I would not be under- 
stood to suppose, that if anything comes to pass by the 
former kind of necessity, the nature of things is not con- 
cerned in it, as well as in the latter. I do not mean to 
determine that where a moral habit or motive is so 
strong that the act of the will infallibly follows, this is 
not owing to the nature of things.''^ (Sec. 4, p. 29.) 
And again, " I suppose that necessity which is called 
natural, in distinction from moral necessity, is so called 
because mere nature, as the word is vulgarly used, is 
concerned, without anything ai choice. The v^ox^nature 
is often used in opposition to choice ; not because na- 
ture has indeed never any hand in our choice ; but this 
probably comes to pass by means that we first get our 
notion of nature from that discernible and obvious 
course of events, which we observe in many things that 
our choice has no concern in ; and especially in the 
material world ; which, in very many parts of it, we 
easily perceive to be in a settled course ; the stated 
order and manner of succession being very apparent. 
But where we do not readily discern the rule and con- 
nection, (though there be a connection, according to 
an established law, truly taking place,) we signify the 
manner of event by some other name. Even in many 
things which are seen in the material and inanimate 
world, which do not discernibly and obviously come to 
pass according to any settled course, men do not call 
the manner of the event by the name of nature, but by 
such names as accident, chance, contingent, &c. So 
men make a distinction between nature and choice ; as 



206 RKVIEW OF EDWARDS OX THE WILL. 

though thoj were completely and iiTiiversally distinct. 
Whereas, I suppose none will deny but that choice, in 
many cases, arises from nature, as tnily as other events. 
Bat the dependence and connection between acts of 
volition or choice, and their causes, according to estab- 
lished laws, is not so sensible and obvious. And we 
observe, that choice is, as it were, a new principle of 
motion and action, different from that established law 
and order of things which is most obvious, that is seen 
especially in corporeal and sensible things ; and also the 
choice often interposes, interrupts and alters the chain 
of events in these external objects, and causes them to 
pi^oceed otherwise than they would do, if let alone, and 
left to go on according to the laws of motion among 
themselves. Hence, it is spoken of as if it were a prin- 
ciple of motion entirely distinct from nature and prop- 
erly set in opposition to it : names being connnonly 
given to things, according to what is most obvious, and 
is suggested by what appears to tlie senses without re- 
flection and research." (Sec. 4, pp. 30, 31.) 

There is in all this much confusion, growing out of 
a vague use of the terms " nature," " nature of things," 
and " natural causes," by which Edwards seems to dis- 
tinguish natural from moral necessity, and yet asserts 
that they have the same relation to both. As he argues 
elsewhere that every volition is an event, which is in- 
dissolubly connected with some other event in the past, 
on which it is dependent as an effect upon its cause, 
and hence, must of necessity come to pass ; he must, to 
sustain this, assert that choice, — volition — " arises from 
nature as truly as other events," and is embraced in 
that " course of events," though " the dependence and 
connection," "according to established laws is not so 



NATURAL AND MORAL NKCESSITY. 207 

sensible and obvious." But this is in opposition to his 
otlier views which make choice " a principle of motion 
entirely distinct from nature and properly set in oppo- 
sition to it," and which he seems, at least partially, to 
adopt. I think, however, that it is will^ and not choice^ 
that is popularly " spoken of as if it were a principle of 
motion entirely distinct fi-om nature," &c. ; and though 
this speaking is not accurate, there is a foundation for 
it in the views I have already stated in Book First of 
this treatise. 

In conformity to those views, every intelligent 
being, acting through its wdll, is a distinct cause, modi- 
fying tliat future, which is the joint product, or effect, 
of all causes combined ; and the object of effort in each 
intelligent cause is to change, or make that future differ- 
ent in some respect from what it would, or might be, 
but for its own agency ; and hence, each will is, in some 
sense, in opposition to all other wills and to any other 
causes external to itself, and especially to those of which 
it can anticipate such consequences as it would modify. 
When it perceives such consequences, it may strive to 
vary their effects by its own act of will, — its own causa- 
tive agency. It may, however, cooperate with all 
other causes as to any effect which it does not seek, or 
wish to change ; in such case putting forth its own effort, 
only to become an agent in producing such effect ; 
which agency is, so far, still a change, or difference 
wrought by its own effort, or act of will. 

What Edwards says of choice is true of will^ that it 
" often interposes, interrupts, and alters the chain of 
events in these external objects, and causes them to 
proceed otherwise than they would do, if let alone, and 



208 REVIEW OF EDWAEDS ON THE WILL, 

left to go on according to the laws of motion in them- 
selves." 

If these laws of motion, or the uniform course of 
events, which we observe in external things, are bnt 
manifestations of the will of God, then, when we seek 
to alter them, we are, in the sense before alluded to, 
opposing His action, or striving to modify its effects. 
In the same way, each finite mind may oppose other 
finite minds, when it perceives that their action is lead- 
ing to results which it does not wish. 

This independent and distinct action of each intelli- 
gent agent to modify the action of all other causes, 
argues that each determines its own course of action 
and consequently is free in such action. If the individ- 
ual will is controlled by these other external causes, 
then these external causes oppose their own action, 
through the will which they thus control ; or convert 
the will of another to their own use ; and this control 
over another will, as before shown, can only be ex- 
erted directly, by making the willing by it, their own 
willing ; and indirectly, only when the willing by the 
agent thus used is free. 

Edwards's argument from natural and moral neces- 
sity rests upon that vague, popular notion, which leads 
men to impute certain events, for which they know no 
secondary causes, to the " nature of things," which 
really means nothing more than that such events are of 
common or uniform occurrence. He has told as that 
" mere nature, as the word is vulgarly used, is con- 
cerned, without anything of choice." Had he looked 
beyond this vulgar use to what it is concerned with, — • 
to the will, or, as he would say, the choice of God, he 
could hardly have failed to perceive, that the choice, or 



NATURAL AND MORAL NECESSITY. 209 

human will, could not change the course of nature at 
all, except by being an independent cause ; and that, if 
it is controlled by nature in its acts of will, any opposi- 
tion of it to nature must really be nature opposing 
itself, by means of the act Avliich it controls. If the 
human mind, acting by its faculty of will, can produce 
such changes in the course of nature as Edwards repre- 
sents, it must, so far, be a power independent of nature ; 
and as he virtually divides all power or cause into na- 
ture and human wnll, the human will, must, so far, be 
independent of all other powder or cause ; and hence, in 
producing these changes is subject only to its own con 
trol ; which is but an expression for its freedom in 
willing. 

In regard to the limit of what Edwards calls " natu- 
ral necessity as applied to men," and by which, as al- 
ready explained, must be meant the paramount will of 
Grod, which, though it may not interfere with man's 
freedom in willing, frustrates his efforts, we may re- 
mark, that the same necessity occurs to us in reference 
to the counter w-illing of the finite mind. We may not 
be able to prevent, or to counteract its wdll or effort, 
any more than we can that of the infinite ; either may 
frustrate the execution of what we will, without inter- 
fering with our freedom in willing. The wound in- 
flicted on me by an act of violence willed by another 
man-, may be as unavoidable to me as the consequent 
pain, which results from " the nature of things," — from 
that constitution of my being which is willed by God. 
In either case, it is a question, not of freedom in will- 
ing, but of power to execute by willing ; the sufficiency 
or insuflSciency of which may only become known by 
the trial, by the result, which follows the willing ; and, 



210 EEVIEW OF EDWARDS -ON THE WILL. 

of course, cannot affect the willing, which has ah*eady 
been, or now is. If these views are correct, the argu- 
ment which Edwards exhibits, in treating of natural 
and moral necessity, is against that liberty of doing as 
we will^ which he deems the only human liberty, rather 
than against that freedom in willing^ which he seeks 
to disprove. 

The classification, by Edwards, of all cause into 
nature and the human will, admits of three distinct in- 
telligent causes of effects, — the will of God — my own 
will, — the wills of other intelligent being.;, all of which 
may be independent of each other ; no one directly 
interfering with the other, but each directing its own 
power, and yet, each, in virtue of its own intelL'gence, 
freely modifying its exercise of its own powers, in con- 
sequence of what it perceives the others have done, are 
doing, or may be expected to do. The result of their 
former efforts, sometimes cooperating, sometimes op- 
posing, have produced the present state of things, in 
view of which each now acts, and the composition of the 
effects of their several efforts with material causes, if 
any, creates the future. 

We may now observe that, in the definitions of 
moral and natural necessity, the term necessity is used 
in very different senses, or relations. Moral necessity, 
as stated by Edwards, means a supposed necessary con- 
nection between the action of a mind in willing and 
something else, which is of, or in that mind, " as incli- 
nation, motive," &c., while natural necessity, which, to 
correspond, should mean the action of external causes 
on the will, does not relate to the act of willing at all, 
but only to what follows the act of will, to the want of 



NATURAL AND MOKAL NKCEBSITY. 211 

human jpower, in some cases, to influence the will of 
God, or change that which He lias willed. 

In the same waj, the phrase " moral inability " is 
applied to willing, while " natural inability " relates to 
the effect which is the sequence, or object of willing ; to 
the want of power in all cases to control, or alter that 
condition, or course of nature, which is the manifesta- 
tion of God's will. JSTatural necessity, and natural in- 
ability, both imply that a man cannot avoid feeling 
pain, when wounded ; cannot overturn the Alps, or 
change the course of the stars which God has ordained. 
The definition also asserts, that the human mind must 
believe in conformity to evidence presented to it ; which 
is merely asserting, tliat the human mind cannot by 
eflort alter what already is or has been, nor ])revent the 
future efl'ect of any power superior to its own ; or, being 
intelligent, cannot by the exercise of its intelligence, 
divest itself of the necessary attributes of intelligence, 
and not perceive and know that which it does perceive 
and know ; the whole statement, so far as it bears upon 
the question of human freedom, amounting to this, that 
the power which a finite being exerts by will is not 
paramount to that of Omnipotence, and cannot work 
contradictions. 

If by " nature," or " the nature of things," Edwards 
does not mean the will of God, then in saying, " I sup- 
pose none will deny but that choice, in many cases, 
arises from nature, as truly as other events. But the 
dependence and connection between acts of volition or 
choice, and their causes, according to established laws, is 
not so sensible and obvious," he makes " nature " an 
unintelligent cause, producing, among other effects, 
human volitions, " according to established laws," with- 



212 REVIEW OF EDWARDB ON THE WILL. 

out showing how it can know, or conform to such law, 
or how be cause at all. Or, if he makes " nature " the 
will of God, acting in conformity to His own laws, he 
asserts that human volitions arise, like external natural 
effects, or changes, from His direct action, and is mis- 
taken in supposing that none will deny this position, 
which really begs the whole question. It is, however, 
upon the assumed " necessity of connection " of the acts 
of will with " such moral causes as the strength of in- 
clination, or motive," that Edwards mainly founds the 
argument against freedom in willing, which he deduces 
from his definition of moral necessity, and which he 
thus initiates : " Moral necessity may be as absolute 
as natural necessity. That is, the efiect may be as per- 
fectly connected with its moral cause, as a natural neces- 
sary effect is with its natural cause. Whether the will 
in every case is necessarily determined by the strongest 
motive, or whether the will ever makes any resistance 
to such a motive, or can oppose the strongest present 
inclination, or not ; if that matter should be contro- 
verted, yet I suppose none will deny but that, in some 
cases, a previous bias and inclination, or the motive 
presented, may be so powerful that the act of the 
will may be certainly and indissolubly connected there- 
with. Where motives, or previous bias are very 
strong, all will allow that there is some dijiculty in 
going against them. And if they were yet stronger, 
the difficulty would be still greater. And, therefore, if 
more were still added to their strength, to a certain de- 
gree, it would make the difficulty so great that it would 
be wholly impossible to surmount it ; for this plain 
reason, because whatever power men may be supposed 
to have to surmount difficulties, yet that power is not 



NATURAL AND MORAL NECESSITY. 213 

infinite ; and so goes not. beyond certain limits. If a 
man can surmount ten degrees of difiicnltj of this kind 
with tM'enty degrees of strength, because the degrees of 
strength are beyond the degrees of difficulty ; yet, if the 
difiiculty be increased to thirty or an hundred, or a 
thousand degrees and his strength not also increased, 
his strength will be wholly insufficient to surmount the 
difficulty. As, therefore, it must be allowed that there 
may be such a thing as a sure and perfect connection 
between moral causes and effects, so this only is what 
I call by the name of moral necessity.'''' (Sec. 4, pp. 
28, 29.) 

One essential support of this argument is the hypo- 
thesis that the same causes necessarily produce the same 
effects, which I will consider hereafter ; as, also, the 
relation of motives generally to the will, which Ed- 
wards here introduces, but states more fully in a subse- 
quent chapter. 

The first statement in the quotation just made 
merely asserts that the connection between the human 
•volition and its moral cause is as perfect as the connec- 
tion between other causes and their effects ; for in- 
stance, that between the volition of God and its effects. 
It in fact asumes that human volitions are a part of a 
chain, or " course of events, that we observe in many 
things that our choice has no concern in." This, as 
Edwards uses volition and choice, seems self-contradic- 
iory ; but even if admitted, it would still not avail to 
prove the necessity of volitions, or their dependence on 
preceding links of the chain, unless he also shows that 
volitions are not included among those events of which 
he says, '' choice (will) often interposes, interrupts and 
alters the chain of events." It is true, he seems to con- 



214: KEVIEW or EDWAEDS ON THE WILL. 

fine this power of clioice to " interpose," &c., to an in- 
terposition in regard to external objects, cansing " tliem 
to proceed otherwise than they would do if let alone, 
and left to go on according to the la/ws of motion among 
themselves." Whether the antecedent links of the 
chain, assumed by Edwards as reaching to volition, are 
external, or internal, does not yet appear, but there is 
no reason to suppose that such chain, if internal, may 
not be interfered with by the power of the mind, as 
much as though it were external, but rather the con- 
trary. 

The latter part of the quotation is an attempt to 
prove that the mind, in the act of willing, sometimes 
meets with difficulties, which it cannot surmount. This 
seems in conflict with Edwards's other position, that the 
act of will is a necessary part of a chain or course of 
events, which the mind not only does not have to aid 
into existence, but which will of necessity come to pass 
without its aid, and hence, in coming to pass, can pre- 
sent no difficulty for the mind to overcome. If, how- 
ever, Edwards hereby intends to assert that such diffi- 
culties j^re-yew^ the volition, then there would be no act 
of will to be the subject of freedom or of necessity. 
This might show that, under certain conditions, the 
mind has not power to will, but not that it is not free 
when it does will. Or, if he asserts that these difficul- 
ties prevent the mind from effigcting what it wills, it 
istill does not effect the freedom or any other condition, 
or characteristic of the act of will, which already is, or 
has been. His design, however, seems to be to argue 
that, notwithstanding such difficulties, the mind does 
still will in the premises, but by these difficulties is con- 
strained or compelled to will in a particular way and 



NATURAL AND MORAL NECESSITY. 215 

cannot, by the exercise of its own power, will in any 
other. It is not easy to conceive of a case in which the 
mind cannot try either to surmount, or to avoid a diffi- 
cnlty ; and this trying to do either, whether successful 
or not, is an act of will. The aigument assumes that 
the ability to tiy to do is limited — that the human will 
is finite, I have already considered this point in Book 
First, but will here add, that, under Edwards's asser- 
tion that the will is the same as choice and, also, as 
desire, it seems even more difficult to conceive of any 
limit to it. An absolute limit to the power to choose 
among objects of choice, whether they be things or 
acts, or to will changes, seems indeed to be as incon- 
ceivable as a limit to space. We may always choose, 
and may will or try to do anything within the limits of 
the conceivable, as we may wish anything conceivable. 
The limit cannot be in the magnitude, or the multi- 
plicity of the objects presented, for the mind can choose 
between one portion of the universe and the other, or 
between as many universes on the one hand, and as 
many on the other, as it can conceive of; and, having 
the requisite knowledge, can do it as easily as it can 
choose between two apples. It can choose or refuse 
anything conceivable, and hence, so far as the objects 
of choice are concerned, has no conceivable limits. As 
the power required to choose or to refuse, does not 
increase with the magnitude, multipl icily, or any other 
property or quality of the objects of choice, there is no 
reason to suppose that, in this respecr, tlis faculty of 
mind is not adequate to the infinite as well as the finite. 
The only cases which Edwards here states of this diffi- 
culty are those in which " a previous bias and inclina- 
tion, or the motive ] resented," are " so powerful" that 



216 KEVIEW OF EDWARDS ON THE WILL. 

the will cannot overcome them. As the only tangible 
notion he gives us of motive, is that of a jperception of 
what is agreeable or pl( asing jyrior to the act of will / 
which, in his system, is the same as " previous inclina- 
tion," and bias being but a synonym for inclination, 
this statement amounts to saying that the difficulty con- 
sists in " a previous inclination," which again under his 
definitions, and as the phrase is generally used, is a 
])revious choice. Edwards elsewhere assumes (Part II. 
Sec. 7, p. 92) that " antecedent choice " of the act must 
be the distinguishing characteristic of 2, free act of will. 
This too accords with the common belief, and the only 
possible exception I have suggested to it is, that in some 
cases of instinctive or habitual action, the mind perceiv- 
ing that a certain act will accomplish its object, may 
adopt it without comparison with any otlier act, or witb 
non-action. When such comparison is instituted, the 
choice is the summation of the mind's knowledge by 
which it directs its effort. Admitting then the two 
positions of Edwards, that "previous inclination" may 
be so strong that the mind in willing cannot go counter 
to it ; and that an act of will to be free must conform 
to " antecedent choice," it follows that as the act of will 
must conform to this " previous inclination," and pre- 
vious inclination is the same as antecedent choice, that 
the act of will must, in such cases, be 2^ free act. These 
insurmountable difficulties, thus in connection with other 
of his assumptions, furnish Edwards with proof of a 
necessity^ but it is that the mind's act in willing is of 
necessity free. 

The supposed cases of the mind's want of power to 
overcome a previous inclination, would seem to come 
under the head of moral inability rather than of moral 



NATURAL AND MOKAL NKCESSITT. 217 

necessity ; but Edwards's argument ujDon it really is, 
that the previous inclination " may be so powerful tbat 
the act of will may be indissolubly connected tberewitli," 
and hence necessitated by this " previous inclination " 
as a moral cause in the past. In this form, however, 
the inference that the mind's act in willing must of ne- 
cessity be free, which I just deduced from this certain 
connection of such acts with " previous inclination " or 
choice, is quite as obvious as upon the simple state- 
ment that tliere is in previous inclination a difficulty 
which the mind has not sufficient power to overcome. 
By making this inclination a cause of inevitable volition, 
Edwards consistently makes the case one of moral ne- 
cessity rather than of moral inability, but at the same 
time exposes his position to other objections which, if 
necessary, might be urged against them. 

That in regard to our actions we meet with cases of 
difficulty, requiring effort to determine what we will 
do, or attempt to do, must be admitted. But this diffi- 
culty never occurs in imTJiediate connection with the 
willing. The mind is always ready to will whenever it 
has a want, and knows or conceives some mode by 
which it deems it possible to gratify that want. "When 
it has no want there is nothing for which to put forth 
effort, or to will ; but there being no conceivable limit 
to our wants, there is no conceivable limit to the will in 
that element. We can suppose that a child may want 
to make its three oranges six, and if it can conceive of 
any possible means, as by piling them one on another, 
or dividing and recombining them, it can choose, and 
can also try, make effort, or will to do so. In these 
views we reach the result, already stated in Book First, 
that the mind's power to will is limited only by its 
10 



218 REVIEW OF EDWARDS ON THE WILL. 

sphere of knowledge, and that the faculty of will is, in 
itself, unlimited. The difficulties exist only in regard 
to the mind's obtaining the knowledge it needs to de- 
termine its final action, and this is really a difficulty, 
not in its willing, but in its power to execute what it 
wills, for even in such extreme cases as that of making 
three oranges six, or of a man's wanting to live in the 
last century, one may try, make effort, or will to find 
some mode of doing it, however fruitless ; and any in- 
ability to will to live in the last century arises from our 
being unable to execute what we attempt by this pre- 
liminary act of will, the objec^t of which is to obtain the 
knowledge of means, or modes, for its final action to 
that end. All such cases of difficulty as Edwards al- 
ludes to, must be those in which the circumstances are 
so obscure, or so complicated, that the mind has not a 
clear perception or knowledge of what is best to be 
done, or of the best mode of doing it, or knows no mode 
whatever of doing what it wants done ; and the obtain- 
ing this knowledge constitutes the difficulty, which it 
freely puts forth its efforts to overcome, but in which it 
may or may not be successful. When the mind acts 
upon its previous knowledge of some mode adapted to 
the occasion, whether that knowledge be intuitive or 
acquired, it never can have any difficulty in the will- 
ing. If we know it will be pleasant or unpleasant to 
do a certain thing, we take this into view in deciding 
whether to do it or not. It is in seeking to learn or 
know what to do, or the mode of doing, that we en- 
counter difficulty, and this difficulty is not in making 
the effi3rt — not in willing to learn — bat in the learning 
of these things, which we may freely make effort, or 
will to do, yet may not have the power to accomplish. 



NATURAL AND MOKAL NECESSITY. 219 

It is also to deficiency of power to do what we will, and 
not to our power, or freedom to will, or to try to do, that 
Edwards's " iiatiival necessity" applies, and onr inabil- 
ity to overcome the difficulties of learning or deciding 
what to do, really belongs, in his classification, to nat- 
ural and not to moral necessity or moral inability. 

Another case of peculiar difficulty is supposed to 
arise in determining the particular act, when of several 
acts there is no perceivable ground for preferring, 
choosing, or willing one rather than another. The 
difficulty in willing, is here a factitious one, being wi- 
f erred from the assumed identity of willing and choos- 
ing. Even under this assumption, such difficulty must 
arise from our not knowing wljich of two or more things 
is preferable, i. e. from a want of knowledge.^ This 
knowledge is of course incompatible with the hypothesis 
that " there is no perceivable ground for preferring." 

Edwards, however, admits that in such cases the 
mind does adopt some one of the acts — that it does will, 
ISTow, in this, and in all the other cases mentioned, the 
question which concerns the mind's freedom, is not 
how much difficulty it encounters in determining its 
actions, nor how nmch knowledge it wants or can ob- 
tain for this purpose, but does it determine them. If 
the mind determines its own action, it must be free in 
such action. If, on examination, all the modes of grati- 
fying a want appear to be attended with such disad- 
vantages or difficulties that the mind concludes not to 
try to gratify it, or if no mode whatever can be fonnd, 
then the mind's effort for this object ends with the pre- 
liminary examination, which, though unsuccessful, was, 
for aught that appears, a free act of will ; and in such 
«ase there is no subsequent act of- will, free or other- 



220 REVIEW OF EDWARDS ON THE WILL. 

wise. There is a subsequent act only when the mind 
by its examination has detei-mined tlie act, and, of 
course, it then acts freely. 

Still another, and perhaps the greatest, source of 
difficulty is in conflicting wants. We may want a cer- 
tain gratification, which we may perceive will bring 
with it or entail some unpleasant consequences. The 
mind examines, that is, seeks more knowledge, seeks 
clearer views of the effects of certain actions, to enable 
it to decide between such conflicting wants. 

It is in such efibrts that virtue and vice are mainly 
manifested in action : and it is here that the mischiev- 
ous tendency of a system which makes such eflPorts but 
necessary links in a chain of events, beginning before 
the e^MiBtence of the active agent, and hence beyond his 
control, becomes most apparent. There are things, the 
doing of which will afford us present pleasure, but 
which, being injurious to others or to ourselves, make 
them morally wrong ; or which, involving future pain to 
ourselves, the doing of them is unwise ; and conversely, 
there are things, the doing of which is attended with 
present pain or discomfort, bnt which we know ought 
to be done as a moral duty, or as required by a wise 
regard for the future. Were it otherwise there would 
be no room for the exercise and increase of virtue, by 
self-restraint, or generous effort. I would here observe 
that, the fact that an action is morally right or wrong, 
or that it may influence our future well-being, is but 
one of the circumstances, which the mind considers in 
determining its effort ; that it can will against its moral 
convictions of right ; and even against what it knows 
to be for its own ultimate good, is certainly no proof 
of a wantof freedom in willing, but rather the contrary. 



NATURAL AND MORAL NEOKBSITY. 221 

That a man does not always will in conformity to 
what lie knows to be right, or that he knowingl}' wills 
against his own ultimate benefit, only proves that he is 
not wholly pure in morals, or perfect in wisdom, and not 
that he does not will freely. The martyr, who nobly 
dies by tortm-e, rather than renounce truth or prin- 
ciple, and the base wretch, who shrinks from any sacri- 
fice to duty, and, for present personal gratification, vio- 
lates all his convictions of right ; both act, or will, with 
equal freedom. 

From their actions, we infer that they are beings 
with very difierent characters, and if, M'ith this differ- 
ence, we should find them acting alike, we might sus- 
pect that their actious were infiuenced or determined, 
by some common cause, external to the one or the 
other, or to both of them ; so that this diversity of 
action is an indication of self-control or freedom, rather 
than of necessity. How this difference in character 
came about, is not strictly material to the question, — 
does the intelligent being, such as he is, will freely ? To 
make or influence his own character, might argue a 
wider range of action, and with it a more extended 
sphere of freedom, which, in conformity to the views 
stated in Book I, would imply an extension of knowl- 
edge also. In unison with this, we find that the mode 
in which the character can be effected, is by increase 
of knowledge, for which man, if not the lower animals, 
can put forth intelligent efforts. In the first place, 
through the moral sense, we all know what, for us, is 
right or wrong ; and with this knowledge it is uni- 
versally admitted, that it is always most wise and bene- 
ficial to do the right, but, as before observed, such gen- 
eral al)stract propositions have little influence on our 



222 KEVIEW OF EDWARDS ON THE WILL, 

voluntary actions. We may not be quite sure tliat tlie 
case in hand is not an exception to the general rule. 
We may not perceive how the rule can apply and 
distrust it. We are wanting in faith. The faith is 
acquired by increase of knowledge ; for the general 
proposition being admitted, it follows, that with 
BLifficient knowledge, it will become obvious in each 
particular case, tliat doing right is most wise and bene- 
ficial. We may thus come to perceive and know the 
particular benefits which will accrue from right action, 
and when, by mature reflection, our faith in the cer- 
tainty of such future benefits is made perfect, we sub- 
mit to present privation and sufiering to attain them, 
as readily as the merchant foregoes present enjoyments 
purchasable with his money, and parts with it, in the 
confident belief of large future gains ; or, as a man in a 
ship on fire, leaps into mid ocean, when he perceives 
that if he does not, a worse fate is inevitable. When 
we have settled a number of individual cases sustaining 
the general rule, have clearly perceived the particular 
advantages of each, and then, by the test of actual ex- 
perience, found that the results of actions morally right 
are most satisfactory to us, our faith in the general 
proposition is confirmed and its influence increased. 
By such investigations, and such actual experience, we 
may come to associate moral right in our eflPbrts with 
the most beneficial results, till right action becomes 
habitual. 

Actual experience is in some respects most efl'ec- 
tive ; but mature reflection, or the abstract investiga- 
tion of conceivable cases will fulfil the same intention, 
and has the advantage which calm and disinterested 
thought has over the hasty processes required by the 



NATURAL AND MORAL NECESSITY. 223 

emergencies of action, in which we are often unduly 
influenced by what appears prominent and important 
only because it is imminent. Such investigations will 
aid us to overcome tlie difficulty which there often is 
in our concluding to sacrifice present pleasure, or to 
suffer present pain, to secure the prospective benefits 
of right actioii. By repeatedly assuring ourselves of 
these benefits, and dwelling upon them, they are so 
brought home to our affection that the right actions, 
with which they are thus familiarly associated, become 
the subjects of cultivated secondarj^ wants, and, as such, 
conflict with and at least tend to countervail the imme- 
diate temptations and inducements to wrong action. 
It is thus that the knowledge acquired by our own 
efforts, or imparted to us by any extrinsic agency, 
human or divine, becomes a means of influencing our 
actions at their source in want. As before observed, 
what we may have accomplished in this way by our 
own efibrts, has, from the greater value which we at- 
tach to the results of our own care and labor, the ad- 
vantage over what may have been otherwise obtained. 
From these views it appears not only that man, being 
what he is, is free ; but that what he morally is, or 
may become, in a great measure depends on his own 
efforts, though he may be aided by extrinsic jntelh- 
gences. Among these aids we may note the influence 
of the moral sense, and our desire to preserve our own 
Belf-respeet, both of which are implanted in us by the 
Creator, and through which the mutilation and degra- 
dation of the soul, by intended wrong doing, are precon- 
ceived and painfully felt in advance of the act ; while 
our desire for the esteem of others makes way for a 
virtuous influence by their approval of right and repro- 



224 REVIEW OF EDWARDS ON THE WILL. 

bation of wrong, a duty which all should fearlessly and 
honestly perform. 

By means of the mind's ability to create and to con- 
template imaginary cases, its power of forming its own 
character, may in a great measure be removed from the 
influence of these extrinsic circumstances which furnish 
the occasions for outward action, and from the exciting 
and selfish inducements which often attend it. 

Now returning to our argument it appears that the 
diflSculties which we have considered are not in the 
province of the will, but of the understanding, and that 
they arise from our deficiency in the knowledge required 
to find the comparative measure of various existing 
circumstances, or future effects, or conflicting wants ; 
or, to reconcile some of these wants, or the mode of 
their gratification, with moral right ; which deficiency 
we may in some degree supply by effort, — though some- 
times we cannot surmount this diflSculty, and often 
cannot do it in time to apply the knowledge or the 
truth found to direct our actions. 

We come now to consider the particular cases by 
which Edwards illustrates moral ability, or what may 
be termed a negative moral necessity. " To give some 
instances of this moral inability. A woman of great 
honor and chastity may have a moral inability to pros- 
titute herself to lier slave, — a child, of great love and 
duty to his parents, may be unable to be willing to kill 
his father. A very lascivious man, in case of certain 
opportunities and temptations, and in the absence of 
such and such restraints, may be unable to forbear 
gratifying his lust. A drunkard, under such and such 
circumstances, may be unable to forbear taking of 
strong drink. A very malicious man may be unable 



NATUKAL AND MORAL NECESSITY. 225 

to exert benevolent acts to an enemy, or to desire liis 
prosperity ; yea, some may be so under the ^^ower of a 
vile disposition, that they maj' be unable to love those 
who are most worthy of their esteem and aft'ection. A 
strong habit of virtue and great degree of holiness may 
cause a moral inability to love wickedness in general, 
may render a man unable to take complacence in 
wicked persons, or things ; or to choose a wicked life 
and prefer it to a virtuous life. AtkI, on the other 
hand, a great degree of habitual wickedness may lay a 
man under an inability to love and choose holiness ; 
and render him utterly unable to love an infinitely holy 
being, or to choose and cleave to him as his chief good." 
(Sec. 4, pp. 32, 33.) 

Preparatory to an examination of these cases it is 
important to know what Edwards means by " Moral 
Inability." He says, " Moral Inability consists * * * 
either in the want of inclination ; or the strength of a 
contrary inclination ; or the want of sufficient motives 
in view to induce and excite the act of the will, or the 
strength of apparent motives to the contrary. Or both 
these may be resolved into one ; and it may be said in 
one word, that moral inability consists in the opposition 
or want of inclination. For when a person is unable 
to will or clioose such a thing, through a defect of mo- 
tives, or the prevalence of contrary motives, it is the 
same thing as being unable through the want of an in- 
clination, or the prevalence of a contrary inclination." 
(Part I. Sec. 4, p. 32.) 

This quotation fully confirms my previous state- 
ment that Edwards uses motive as an equivalent for 
"nclination. 

We must also still bear in mind that he uses the 
10* 



226 EKYIEW or ED^VAEDS OX THE WILL. 

words inclination, preference and choice, as synonyms 
of will. Inclination can only exist in connection with 
some want, and as a consequence, though not a neces- 
sary consequence of it, other conditions being requisite. 

In the second of the cases just quoted from Ed- 
wards, he uses the phrase " unable to he icilling^'^ and 
he must mean to imply the same in the other cases, 
and not an inability to do the thing spoken of, as other- 
wise they would be ii-relevant. His first case is per- 
haps the strongest. Supplying this ellipsis it reads 
thus, " A woman of great honor and chastity may 
have a moral inability to he tcilUng to prostitute her- 
self to her slave." In this, for " moral inability" sub- 
stitute its equivalent as above defined by Edwards, 
" opposition or want of inclination," and again for in- 
clination, his equivalent for it, v:ill (choice or prefer- 
ence), and the assertion reads, A woman of great honor 
or chastity, may have an opposition, or want of will, 
to be willing to prostitute herself to her slave ; that is, 
she cannot will what she does not will, or what she op- 
poses by will. The same thing appears more directly, 
by taking the words in their ordinary import without 
tracing them through Edwards's peculiar definitions. 
" A woman of great honor and chastity" is a woman, 
who is unwilling to prostitute herself ; and to will to 
prostitute herself would be to will and not will, or to 
be willing and unwilling at the same tinae ; or, still 
shorter, to be chaste and unchaste at the same time, 
contradictions which Omnipotence and Omniscience 
could not reconcile, and which, could they be recon- 
3iled, would militate, at least as little against, as in 
favor of, freedom in willing. 

In Edwai'ds's second case, the denial of his state- 



NA.TUKAL AND MORAL NECESSITY. 227 

ment does not, of necessity, involve any contradiction 
in terms. Nor is the statement of necessity true. The 
contrary is not only conceivable, but it is conceded as a 
fact, that in a portion of India it is deemed a filial duty 
of the child to kill his fatlier, when suffering from the 
infirmities of age. The belief or ideas, the hnowledge 
of the child, there indicates this act, which to him may 
be so unpleasant, that only " great love and duty to his 
parent" would induce him to perform it. The child 
here Tcnows a mode of action, which reconciles the kill- 
ing of his father with his own sense of " love and duty " 
to him, and, even though he encounter the difliculty 
of reconciling it with conflicting wants, he m.ay adopt it. 
The other cases would only call forth analogous remarks. 
All these cases are more or less analogous to that 
of a being, pure and noble, being unable to will what is 
impure and ignoble, because he has no want which will 
be gratified thereby, or because he has a conflicting 
want, which, in his judgment, should be gratified. If, 
then, the absenc.e of the want, or the presence of an 
equivalent conflicting want, is the reason of the moral 
inability in the instances given by Edwards, such in- 
ability does not conflict with freedom in willing. When 
there is no willing, tliere cannot be either freedom or 
necessity in willing ; and a man's having freedom to 
will what, or when he does not want to will, or to will 
in opposition to his paramount want, or to his inclina- 
tion, were it possible, would not be freedom at all ; and 
the inability to will what, or when he does not want to 
will, is not opposed to freedom. Such ideas of freedom 
are absurd and contradictory. It must be borne in 
mind, that we are not now considering the question 
how a man comes to be virtuous or vicious, or what- 



228 REVIEW OF EDWARDS ON THE WILL. 

ever he ma}' be, but the freedom of his mind in willing, 
under all the conditions and circumstances existing at 
the time of willing, whether that be at the time of the 
first act of will to gratify an innate want by means 
intuitively known ; or subsequently, when other wants 
have been developed and other knowledge acquired, 
and conflicting combinations of tbem have arisen, re- 
quiring much preliminary efibrt to fully apprehend and 
wisely to judge or decide. 

If the foregoing views are correct, the whole of the 
argument of Edwards in regard to increasing the diffi- 
culty, until it surmounts the power of the mind to 
choose, prefer, or will, is unavailing to prove necessity ; 
nor have his illustrations of moral necessity or of moral 
inability any such tendency, but on the contrary, both 
arguments, and the illustrations of them, really indicate 
that tlie mind is of necessity free in willing. 

I would here further observe, that in regard to such 
internal motives, as "previous bias or inclination," 
which must be either previous conclusions or prefer- 
ences, there is no reason to suppose, until the mind has 
actually willed, or at least has finished its preparatory 
deliberation, and while it is yet opposing, or comparing, 
or seeking new views, new knowledge, to oppose to or to 
compare with the old, that, by this process, it may not 
change any previous bias or inclination, and vaiy the 
result, or the act of will, so that it will conform to such 
change ; there is no necessity to the conti-ary. " Previous 
bias, or inclination," though not, as Edwards's defini- 
tions would make it, already a state of willing, is such 
knowledge as the mind may immediately act upon, and 
is then closely connected with, the act of will. In 
some cases our acting from previous bias or inclination is 



NATURAL AND MOKAL NECESSITY. 229 

merely substituting tlie memory of a preference, or of a 
reason, or of a mode of action, which lias before been 
perceived and approved for present investigation. But 
if the mind does not will freely, there is no reason to 
suppose that its previous state or condition, by whicli 
must be meant, previous to the act of will, will in- 
fluence it at all in willing. The Mas and inclination are 
of the mind, and can affect the mind in willing only as 
this biassed or inclined mind itself controls its will. If 
something else than this mind controls its will, its own 
bias or inclination can have no necessary influence 
whatever upon its will. 

Again, "a previous bias or inclination or the mo- 
tive presented," must be a previous preference ; and 
Edwards virtually says so. (Part I. pp. 2 and 32.) 
Hence as he uses the terms, this previous preference or 
inclination is a previous choice, or act of will ; and we 
have in one choice or preference, the motives for 
another choice or preference, the first or motive choice, 
requiring a cause for its existence as much as the latter, 
and no advance is thus made toward a solution of the 
problem as to what determines the mind in choosing 
or willing. 

It will be perceived that much of the argument 
which Edwards deduces from the instances we have 
quoted, rests upon a supposed power in habit. As in 
the case of " nature of things," and " inclination," or 
" motive," Edwards seems to have adopted this term as 
representing a power or cause, without defining M^hat 
it is, or showing any attributes by which it can becc^me 
cause of any effects. I would here also suggest that 
there is no certainty that habits, however long estab- 
lished, will continue ; and, of course, they imply no 



230 REVIEW OF i:dwari)S on the will. 

necessity of continuance. There is no necessity that the 
acts of a man, heretofore nniformlj vicious, will con- 
tinue to be vicious ; and the only ground oi probahility 
that they will be vicious is that he wills freely. If the 
willing is not the free act of the vicious man, but is 
controlled by some other being or power, then the 
vicious habits or propensities of the vicious man can 
have no necessary connection with the willing of the 
vicious acts, and his will, being controlled, constrained, 
or coerced, will as probably be opposed to his habits 
and propensities as in conformity to them. The result 
we arrived at (Book I. chap, xi.), that habit is but the 
mind's using a plan of action, formed on some previous 
like occasion, instead of making a new plan each time, 
takes from habit even the appearance of a distinct 
power, controlling our voluntary actions. It shows 
that it has no other effect than to obviate the necessity 
of present investigation. The results thus previously 
obtained, become a part of the knowledge of the mind, 
which it uses in determining its mode of action, as it 
does any other knowledge. Such use of its knowledge, 
we have already shown, does not conflict with its free- 
dom in willing. If it is peculiar to this memory of 
former results, and the familiar association of previous 
action with consequent gratification, that the want is 
thereby intensified, and, at the same time, more 
promptly and easily gratified by the mind's being re- 
lieved from the labor of new investigation as to the 
mode, these facts become but a portion of the known 
circumstances which the mind considers preparatory to 
deciding in regard to its final efibrt ; and the existence of 
circumstances among and with which to exercise its 
powers of comparing, judging, &c., in selecting, we have 



NATURAL AND MOKAL NECESTITY. 231 

already shown, does not conflict with the freedom of the 
mind in willing, but only furnishes occasion for its ex- 
ercise. That it wills to adopt the results of former 
investigation, or to copy former action, ratlier than re- 
sort to new inquiry, or seek new modes, is no reason to 
infer that, in so doing, it does not will freely. It mani- 
fests as much freedom in adopting tliese former results 
as it could in reinvestigation. Adopting the habitual 
mode will be more easy and generally quicker ; and, 
these are so far inducements or reasons to the mind for 
adopting it, when it wants to save labor and time ; but 
if the mind wants exercise and to occu])y its time, or to 
acquire, or test new modes, their influences will be 
reversed. There is nothing tben, in habit, conflicting 
with the freedom of the mind in willing. That, by a 
figure of speech, a man is often said to be a slave to his 
habits, arises from two distinct reasons. By habitual 
gratification, some of our wants constitutionally acquire 
great intensity. When, for instance, the ncxwous sys- 
tem has long been habitually excited, its constitution 
is so changed, that remission of the excitement produces 
the most painful sensations ; and, in aggravated cases, 
delirium and death. The want, in such cases, becomes 
intense and its demand for relief, as the demand for 
safety in case of extreme danger, usually overbalances 
all other considerations. The common saying, that. 
a man is a slave to his haMts, has a foundation also in 
the fact that it often happens, that when a man has 
habitually adopted certain modes of action, he ceases to 
make effort for further progress in that direction ; but 
this indicates not an absence of freedom in the effort 
which is made, but the absence of any effort to learn 
new or better modes. 



232 EKVIIW OF EDWAEDS ON TIIK WILL. 

As the consciousness of our own acting lessens as the 
effort diminishes, it is not surprising tliat we should fail 
to recognize our own agency in those efforts, which 
habit has made so easy, so natural, that we are hardly 
aware that they require from us any mental exertion 
whatever ; and hence we are easily led to attribute 
them to some extrinsic power, or to consider habit itself 
as such a power. 

The only case, other than habit, which Edwards 
gives of moral necessity, is that of " previous bias or 
inclination," and this, as before shown, being in his sys- 
tem the same as j)reference, choice and will, the argu- 
ment or assertion that a man must will in conformity 
to such moral motives as " bias or inclination," in that 
system only proves that, under the influence of moral 
necessity, he must will in conformity to what he wills. 

I have already shown that Edwards's views and 
assertions on this point together involve a necessary 
freedom of the mind in willing, and having founded the 
reasoning, not upon, the erroneous dogma that will, 
choice, preference and inclination are identical ; but 
only upon such of his positions as are admitted, the con- 
clusion does not merely convict him of inconsistency in 
such views and assertions, but argues the actual exist- 
ence of such freedom. It has also been shown that 
the influence of natural necessity, or the action of causes 
other than our own will, can only frustrate our eff"ort ; 
and this subsequent result cannot militate against the 
freedom of the mind's act of willing. 



CHAPTER IV. 



SELF-DETEKMINATION. 



Iiq" regard to the argument of Edwards in his Part 
II. Sec. 1, against the will's self -determining power, 
I would remark that it is irrelevant to my position, 
which not only does not involve that dogma, but as- 
serts, not that the will, but that the mind, the active 
being, determines its own volition, and that it does this 
by means of its knowledge ; and further, that the 
choice, which, it is admitted in most if not in all cases, 
precedes the effort, or act of will, is not, as Edwards 
asserts, itself an act of will, but is the knowledge of the 
mind that one thing is superior to another, or suits us 
better than other things ; this knowledge being always 
a simple mental perception, to which previous effort 
may, or may not have been requisite ; and that every 
act of will is a beginning of new action, independent 
of all previous actions, which in no wise of themselves 
affect, or influence the new action ; though the Tcnowl- 
edge acquired in, or by such previous actions, being 
used by the mind to direct this new action, may be to 
it the reason for its acting, or for the manner of its act- 
ing ; and that, in the use of such knowledge, to direct, 



234 REVIEW OF EDWARDS ON THE WILL. 

or adapt its action to the occasion, or to its want, it be- 
gins with the intuitive knowledge, that it can, by effort 
or will, put its own being in action and use and give 
direction to its own powers. But some of his reasoning 
seems to imply, that the mind itself, m choosing or 
willing, is subject to external constraint or control ; and, 
in this view, it is important to examine it. After stat- 
ing the position of his opponents, " that the person in 
the exercise of a power of willing and choosing, or the 
soul, acting voluntarily, determines " all the free acts of 
the will, Edwards says, " Therefore, if the will deter- 
mines all its own free acts, the soul determines all the 
free acts of the will, m the exercise of a power of will- 
ing and choosing ; or, which is the same thing, it de- 
termines them of choice ; it determines its own acts by 
choosing its own acts. If the will determines the will, 
then choice orders, and determines the choice ; and acts 
of choice are subject to tiie decision and follow the con- 
duct of other acts of choice. And, therefore, if the will 
determines all its own free acts, then every free act of 
choice is determined by a preceding act of choice, 
choosing that act. And if that preceding act of the 
will or choice be also a free act, then, by these prin- 
ciples in this act too, the will is self-determined ; that 
is, this, in like manner, is an act that the soul volun- 
tarily chooses ; or, which is the same thing, it is an act 
determined still by a preceding act of the will, choosing 
that. And the like may again be observed of the last 
mentioned act ; which brings us directly to a contradic- 
tion ; for it supposes an act of the will, preceding the 
first act in the whole train, directing and determining 
the rest ; or a free act of the will, before the first free 
act of the will. Or else, we must come at last to an 



SELF-DETEKMINATION. 235 

act of the will, detej-mining the consequent acts, where- 
in the will is not self-detennined, and so is not a free 
act in this notion of freedom ; but if the first act in the 
train, determining and fixing the rest, be not free, none 
of them all can be free ; as is manifest at first view, but 
shall be demonstrated presently " (p. 4A). To the state- 
ment of his opponents, he herein only adds, as a postu- 
late, that acts of choice and acts of will are equivalent 
expressions ; and if he adopts the axiom, tliat, if a state- 
ment when expressed in one set of terms is true, it is 
also true when, for any of those terms, their equivalents 
are substituted, he might, under the postulate, argue 
that whatever was truly asserted of acts of will, might 
likewise be asserted of acts of choice, and vice versa ; 
but it is not easy to conceive how, with such data, he 
can get beyond this. His changing of the word in to 
hy may afi'ect the whole course of the argument. To 
illustrate this, let it be said, that a body changes its 
position in moving, and moves in changing its position. 
This may imply only that the body may be moved, or, 
which is the same thing, that its position may be 
changed, or, if the body has a self-moving faculty, that 
it may move itself. The two phrases really, only recip- 
rocally define or explain each other, but if we connect 
them with the term hy instead of in, and use hy as an 
abbreviation of hy means of or, hy reaeon of, or l)y cause 
of, as is not uncommon, though we never say in means 
of, &c., we might infer that the cause of the body's mo- 
tion was its change of position, and, vice versa, that the 
cause of its change of position was its motion ; and 
hence, infer that the cause must be both before and 
after the effect, or each alternately before the other, in 
an infinite series, so that a body never could begin tc 



236 KEVIEW OF EDWARDS ON THE WILL. 

move, or to be moved ; and even, if under such conditions, 
motion could be conceived of as existing fi-om eternity, 
it would seem to be impossible for it to be continued ; 
for a body, though in motion, could not change its posi- 
tion before it moved, nor move before it changed its 
position. It does one in doing the other, not hy doing 
the other ; and it does one in doing the other, only be- 
cause the one and the other are the same thing. So, 
if we admit, with Edwai-ds, that an act of willing and 
choosing are the same thing, all that he can legitimately 
deduce from the statement of his opponents, that " the 
soul determines all the free acts of the will, in the exer- 
cise of a power of willing," is that, if so, the soul freely 
wills in choosing, or freely chooses in willing, or freely 
chooses in freely choosing. 

Edwards defines will to be that hy which the mind 
chooses anything, and then says, " an act of the will is 
the same as an act of choosing^ or choice / " and by 
other expressions completely identifies will and choice. 
Hence, he may as well say that the mind wills by 
choosing, or by the choice, as that it chooses by the 
will ; and from these two positions of his it might be 
argued that, as the mind wills hy choosing, or chooses 
by willing, the willing and choosing must alternately 
precede each other, as cause without limit, and that there 
could be no first willing or choosing ; thus involving 
in his own statement the very absurdity which he 
charges upon his opponents, and which they seem to 
have avoided by the use of the word in, which Ed- 
wards, in making out his position against them, changes 

to BY. 

The position of his opponents which Edwards under- 
takes to disprove, is, as quoted by himself, that " the 



8ELr-DETERMINATI03Sr. 237 

soul determines all the free acts of the will in tlie exer- 
cise of a power of willing, or choosing," which is equiv- 
alent to saying that the soul, in its own free act of will, 
dstermines itself in that act ^ wliereas, the position, 
wliioh he really combats, is the very different one, that 
the soul, in its own free act of will, determines itself by 
a previous act of will / the disproving of which does not 
at all affect the position of his opponents, as above 
stated, though it may apply to some other of their as- 
sertions. This changing in to by is repeated and runs 
through the whole argument. "We may also observe in 
it much ambiguity and confusion from using the words 
choice or choosing, as sometimes meaning the jprocess 
of choosing, and sometimes as the final result of the 
process / and also using the terms mind and will some- 
times as equivalents, and sometimes in a manner im- 
plying doubt as to whether it is the mind, or the will, 
which determines, or is determined. 

Edwards appears not to recognize that intelligence, 
mind, may itself be cause. He says, " but to say that 
the will or mind orders, influences, or determines itself 
to exert such an act as it does, by the very exei'tion it- 
self, is to make the exertion both cause and effect." 
This whole phraseology is founded on the idea that 
mind is not itself a cause directly producing effects by 
its activity or power in willing ; but that it must first 
order something, in itself, to will them ; and further, it 
is only by the use of the word by, that he infers, even 
from that phraseology, that the exertion is the cause 
of the exertion. It would seem to be proper to call 
that which " orders, influences and determines " the 
exertion, i. e. the mind itself, the cause of that exertion, 
rather than make another exertion of that same mind 



238 KEVIEW OF EDWARDS ON THE WILL. 

the cause ; and if the term in had been used in place 
of BY, this would have become so apparent, that it could 
hardly have escaped observation, I trust that what I 
have said, in Book First of this work, on the subjects 
of spirit and matter as cause, is sufficient to show, that 
it may be at least as proper to refer any effect directly 
to mind as cause, as to any material or other conceiv- 
able cause. 

It is true, that before an act of will, there must be 
something to move the mind to action, for, though the 
mind is cause, it is a cause which, being intelligent, 
does not act without a reason. Edwards finds this 
prime mover in his " motives," which he not only sup- 
poses to move the mind, but to deteruiine or give direc- 
tion to its movement in the act of willing. I have sup- 
posed that want arouses the mind to action, and that 
the mind directs that action by means of its knowledge 
already possessed, adding to it, when it seems needed, 
that obtained by its preliminary efforts or acts of will 
foi" that object. Of the knowledge thus acquired for 
the particular occasion, we may particularly note that 
obtained by the mind's preliminary efforts in comparing 
and judging of those preconceptions of the effects of 
its volitions, which, by its knowledge, innate or 
acquired, and its prophetic power, it is enabled to form 
in the future. I shall have occasion to speak of this 
difference in our views hereafter ; and will now only 
remark, that as already shown, neither the want, nor 
the knowledge, whether it be of the past, present or 
future, innate or acquired, is a volition ; and hence, 
as already intimated, even if the argument of Edwards 
establishes the absurdity of one volition being willed by 
another, in which I do not differ with him, it does not 
affect my position. 



SELF-DETl'^RMINATION. 239 

The doctrine, that the mind, being in virtue of its 
intelligence a creative "first cause, can originate change, 
and direct that change bj its present proplietic percep- 
tions of the future effects of its act of will, is directly 
opposed to that which asserts, that the mind in willing 
is " determined, directed and commanded " bj 2i previous 
act of will, which, being in the past, is now entirely 
beyond reach of the mind's faculty of will, and hence 
control by such previous act would be as fatal to the 
mind's freedom in its present willing, as if such control 
were by another being ; if it be not wholly destructive, 
also, of the admitted power of the mind to will. Even 
admitting that choice is always a pre-requisite of every 
free act of will, and that it is by snch choice that the 
mind determines its free act, still, if I have succeeded 
in showing that, in fact, choice is not itself the act of 
will, but is only a certain kind of knowledge ; such ad- 
mission would still leave the case within my general 
position, that the mind directs its power in willing by 
means of its knowledge, while that fact leaves no 
ground for the infinite series with no possibility of a 
first act, which Edwards deduces from the assumption 
that choice and will are the same ; and the argument 
lie derives from this infinite series, in the form of a 
reductio ad absurdum, and so often applies, is then 
shown to be entirely fallacious. 



CHAPTER Y. 

NO EVENT WITHOUT A CAUSE. 

In Part II. Sec. 3, Edwards sajs lie uses the word 
cause " in a sense, wliicli is more extensive, than that 
in which it is sometimes used," applying it to that 
which has no " positive eflSciency, or influence to pro- 
duce a thing, or bring it to pass," but which "has truly 
the nature of a ground or reason why some things are, 
rather than others, or why they are as they are, rather 
than otherwise ; " and after saying, " that when I speak 
of connection of causes and effects I have respect to 
moral causes as well as those that are called natural in 
distinction from them, " he further says, " Therefore I 
sometimes use the word caaise in this inquiry to signify 
any antecedent, either natural or moral, positive or 
negative, on which an event, either a thing, or the man- 
ner and circumstance of a thing, so depends, that it is 
the ground and reason, either in whole, or in part, why 
it is, rather than not ; or why it is as it is, rather than 
otherwise ; or, in other words, any antecedent with 
whicli a consequent event is so connected, that it truly 
belongs to the reason why the proposition, which aflSrms 
that event, is true ; whether it has any positive influ- 



NO EVENT WITHOUT A CAUSE. 241 

ence or not. And in an agreeableness to this, I some- 
times use the woi'd effect for the consequence of another 
thing, which is perhaps rather an occasion than a canse, 
most properly speaking." Edwards then applies this 
definition to prove that no " event whatsoever, and 
volition in particular, can come to pass without a cause 
of its existence" (p. 54); or, as ho afterwards says, 
" whatsoever begins to be, which before was not, must 
have a cause, why it then begins to exist " (p. 56). 
And again, " what is not necessary in itself, must have 
a cause " (p. 58).'^ 

Tlie extended meaning, which he gives to the word 
cause, facilitates this proof, but, at the same time, makes 
it doubtful whether such proof will be available for the 
purpose he intends. His object is to argue from it, 
that as volition is an " event," or a " whatsoever that 
begins to be," it must have a cause, it must be an 
effect, which is so connected with the cause by which it 
is brought to pass, that it is of necessity controlled and 
determined l^y that cause. But when he has shown a 
connection of a thing with that cause in which, by his 
definition, he includes what " has no positive efficiency, 
or influence to produce a thing, or bring it to pass," he 
cannot properly argue that such cause necessitates the 
thing, in the production of which it thus has no " posi- 
tive efiiciency or influence." 

In the previous section, he thus states the proposition 
to which he applies the argument derived from the 
necessary dependence of an effect upon its cause : " But 
certainly, those things which have a prior ground and 
reason of their particular existence, a cause, which ante- 
cedently determines them to be, and determines them 

* See Appendix, Note XXXVIII. 
11 



242 REVIEW OF EDWARDS ON THE "WILL. 

to be just as thej are, do not happen contingently. If 
soraetliing foregoing, by a causal influence and connec- 
tion, determines and fixes precisely their coining to pass 
and the manner of it, then it does not remain a con- 
tingent thing whether they shall come to pass, or no " 
(pp. 53, 54). Though this may be strictly true, tlie ne- 
cessity for a thing coming to jDass is evidently not to be 
inferred from such proposition, by showing that, that 
thing is connected with a cause, which may have no 
causal or other influence to produce the thing, or hring it 
to pass J for the very foundation of the general proposi- 
tion is, that the " causal influence *" " determines and fixes 
precisely [the thing] coining to pass and the manner 
of it." But, though Edwards's definition of cause will 
not bear the argument he rests upon it, and his at- 
tempted demonstration wholly fails ; we are not dis- 
posed to question the necessary dependence of an efl'ect 
upon its proper cause, or that a volition is such an 
event as must have a cause that determines it ; but we 
deem it a sufficient answer to any application of the 
argument against the freedom of the mind in willing, 
to say that the mind is itself the cause of its volitions, 
and that this necessary dependence of the volition, as 
an eft'ect, upon the mind as a cause, only proves that 
the mind controls and determines its volitions, or its 
own acts in willing ; and hence, in them, acts fi'eely. 

The whole question is involved in that of the mind's 
being itself cause, or not. Edwards seems to deny, or, 
at least, to ignore mind as cause, and though his asser- 
tion that " as to all things that hegin to he, they are not 
self-existent and therefore must have some foundation 
of their existence without themselves^'' (p. 56) may 
really only admit of the inference; that the volition 



NO EVENT WITHOUT A CAUSE, 243 

must have a cause loithout itself^ he treats it as if this 
cause must also be without the mind that wills. He 
asserts that volition is an act of mind and, if he admits 
that mind, in the act of willing, acts as cause, and still 
insists that this act of cause, being a " whatsoever " that 
" begins to be, which before was not, must have a cause, 
why it then begins to exist," he must mean to assert, 
that for every such act of cause there must be another 
act of cause ; and not merely that for every act of 
cause, there must be a cause to act, which would be the 
merest truism. He must then assert, that for every act 
of the mind as cause of its volition, there must be 
another act of cause ; and this, as he before says " to 
say it [the will] is caused, influenced and determined 
by something and yet not determined by anything 
antecedent, either in order of time or nature, is a con- 
tradiction" (p. 52), must mean, that for every such act 
of cause, there must be a prior act of cause ; which, 
also, must have required another prior act of cause, and 
there never could be a first act of cause. Or, if he 
makes a distinction, and says that the act of the will 
of God is an event which has no such prior cause, then 
the whole argument fails, for it must prove that, as a 
metaphysical necessity, thei'e can bo no event that be- 
gins to be, without such a previous act of cause ex- 
trinsic to itself, or it avails him nothing ; and if it can 
be said that the mind of God is a cause, which is ex- 
trinsic to its volition, the same may be asserted of the 
human mind, or of mind generally ; and even if, in any 
sense whatever, it could be said that the Divine voli- 
tions may be without a cause ; then, as it has become 
evident that there may be events without a cause, the 
question immediately arises as to whether human voli- 



244 REVIEW OF EDWARDS ON THE WILL. 

tions are not such events. I, by no means, intend to 
assert that they are. And when, in the next section 
(p. 62), Edwards inquires " whether volition can arise 
without a cause^ through the activity of the nature of 
the soul," I think it would have been more pertinent 
to the subject to have asked, whether the soul through 
the activity of its nature can be a cause of volition. He 
proceeds to argue against the position of some writers, 
who, it seems, assert the affirmative of the inquiry as 
he states it ; and, in so doing, he thus gives an affirma- 
tive answer to the question as I have stated it. " The 
activity of the soul may enable it to be the cause of 
effects I but it does not at all enable or help it to be 
the subject of effects which have no cause " (p. 63). 
The first portion of this admits all that is essential to 
prove, that the soul may itself be the canse of its voli- 
tions. The latter portion seems to indicate a difficulty, 
which is, in fact, wholly removed by the first ; for the 
sonl being itself the cause of its volitions, it is not in 
them, " the subject of effects, which have no cause?'' 
The next sentences explain the latter portion of the 
above quotation. " Activity of nature will no more 
enable a being to produce effects and determine the 
manner of their existence within itself, without a cause, 
than out o/* itself, in some other being. But if an ac- 
tive being should, through its activity, produce and 
determine an effect in some external object, how absurd 
would it be to say, that the effect was produced without 
a cause " (p. 63). 

In reply to these positions : the activity of the soul 
being itself admitted to be cause, we may say con- 
versely, that the activity of the soul may produce 
effects in itself 2& well as without itself. And that, if 



NO EVENT WITHOUT A CAUSE. 245 

an active being sliould thus, through its active nature, 
produce and determine an effect in itself, how absurd 
would it be to say, that the effect was produced with- 
out a cause. The argument on this pohit is, however, 
directed to the proof that the " actimty " is not itself 
the cause, rather than that the active agent, or the 
agent which exercises this activity, canuot be ; and as 
this latter is really all that is important in this position 
of the inquiry, as to the freedom of that active agent in 
willing, we might pass the reasoning on the other point, 
but, that dwelling a little fui'ther upon it may serve to 
elucidate the subject generally. In the course of the 
argument, Edwards says : " 2. The question is not so 
much, how a spirit endowed with activity comes to act, 
as why it exerts such an act, and not another ; or why 
it acts with such a particular determination ? If ac- 
tivity of nature be the cause why a spirit (the soul of 
man, for instance) acts, and does not lie still ; yet that 
alone is not the cause why its action is thus and thus 
limited, directed and determined. Active nature is a 
general thing ; it is an ability or tendency of nature to 
action, generally taken ; which may be a cause why the 
soul acts as occasion, or reason is given ; but this alone 
cannot be a sufficient cause why the soul exerts such a 
particular act, at such a time, rather than others. In 
order to this, there must be something besides a gen- 
eral tendency to action ; there must also be 2^. particular 
tendency to that individual action. If it should be 
asked, why the soul of man uses its activity m sucn a 
manner as it does ; and it should be answered, that the 
soul uses its activity thus rather than otherwise, be- 
cause it has activity ; would such an answer satisfy a 
rational man? Would it not rather be looked upon 



246 REVIEW OF EDWARDS ON THE WILL. 

as a very impertinent one ? " (pp. 63, 64.) It seems a 
sufficient answer to this question, " why the soul of 
man uses its activity in such a manner as it does," that 
the soul is intelligent ; and hence, is able to deter- 
mine which action will suit it best; and, in virtue of 
this intelligence and, especially, of its ])ower to foresee, 
or preconceive the future, as before explained, it is a 
creative Jirsf cause, requiring no propulsion from the 
past, or no prior cause for its action. 

Edwards proceeds with his argument to show that 
" activity of nature " cannot be the cause why the 
mind's " action is thus and thus limited, directed and 
determined," as follows : " 3. An active being can bring 
no effects to pass by his activity but what are conse- 
quent upon his acting ; he produces nothing by his 
activity, any other way than by the exercise of his 
activity, and so nothing but the fruits of its exercise ; 
he brings nothing to pass by a dormant activity. But 
the exercise of his activity is action ; and so his action 
or exercise of his activity, must be prior to the effects 
of his activity. If an active being produces an effect 
in another being, about which his activity is conversant, 
the effect being the fruit of his activity, his activity 
must be first exercised, oi" exerted, and the effect of it 
must follow. So it must be, with equal reason, if the 
active being is his own object and his activity con- 
versant about himself, to produce and determine some 
effect in himself; still the exercise of his activity must 
go before the effect, which he brings to pass and deter- 
mines by it. And therefore his activity cannot be the 
cause of the determination of the first action, or exercise 
of activity itself, whence the effects of activity arise ; 
for that would imply a contradiction ; it would be to 



NO EVENT WITHOUT A CAUSE, 24T 

say, the first exercise of activitj is before the first exer- 
cise of activity and is tlie cause of it " (pp. 64, 65). 

So far, in this cliapter, I have virtually conceded 
the assertion of Edwards, that " the activity of the soul 
may enable it to be the cause of effects ; " and hence 
inferred that it may, through its activity, be the cause 
of its own volitions. I have done this, in order to show 
that, even on that hypothesis, the argument really 
favors freedom and not necessity. It seems to me, 
however, more correct to say that the activity of the 
soul is itself the willing ; or, at least, that willing is 
itself one mode of its activity. Edwards's argument, 
virtually, both admits and denies this. He admits the 
exercise of the soul's activity generally, and argues that 
this cannot produce a volition, because volition is an 
exercise of its activity ; and therefore, as the exercise 
of its activity cannot be before itself, it cannot be the 
cause of its activity, i. e. the thing does exist, but it is 
impossible that it should exist, because it cannot be 
before itself. He is arguing about the exercise of ac- 
tivity generally I and, therefore, this objection to his 
mode of reasoning cannot be met by saying that, wlien 
he speaks of the exercise of activity generally, he does 
not mean that exercise of actimty, which is a volition^ 
and if it could be so said, the argument, that the exer- 
cise of activity cannot be before itself, would then have 
no relation to the volition, which is not that exercise 
of activity. The argument, even if tenable, would ap- 
ply only to activity generally, or in the abstract, and 
not to activity, which has a particular direction, or 
which is directed in some particular way by intelli- 
gence or other power. I agree with him as to the im- 
potence of activity generally, and think he has even 



248 REVIEW OF EDWARDS ON THE WILL. 

gone too far in saying tliat " tlie activity of the sonl 
may enable it to be the cause of efi'ects " (p. 63). He 
argues, " That the soul, though an active substance, 
cannot diversify its own acts but hj first acting " (p. 65), 
because " the substance of the soul before it acts, and 
its active nature before it is exerted are the same with- 
out variation," and the " same causal power without 
variation " cannot " produce different effects at different 
times " (p. 65). But the same argument proves that 
it cannot diversify its " first acting." Actwity of na- 
ture generaUy would, alone, admit of no variation ; un- 
combined with knowledge, or with intelligence, if it 
could be cause at all, it would be but one invariable, 
blind cause ; and hence, could produce only one effect ; 
but it could not even be this. Mere active nature alone, 
or the knowledge alone, would be powerless ; neither 
alone could be cause, any more than weight* or velocity 
alone can be momentum. A mere activity generally 
must act equally in all directions ; must act equally in 
favor of and against any movement or doing, and neu- 
tralize itself. 

Actimty generally expresses, not a power in itself, 
but only what may become power, a something, which 
may be used by whatever can apply and direct it ; and 
when Edwards asserts that " active nature is a general 
thing ; it is an ability, or tendency of nature to action 
generally taken, which may be a cause why the soul 
acts as occasion or reason is giveji " (p. 64), he virtually 
admits all that is essential to ray system ; i. e. that the 
soul has an ability to action, which it may use when it 
sees a reason, and that its effort, or act of will, is but 
an exercise of this general dbility or power of action, 
which it directs and determines to s>ome pa7^tiGular act. 



NO EVENT WITHOUT A CAUSK. 249 

by means of its knowledge. In such case, however, the 
active nature is not the cause of the soul's acts, but is only 
the soul's ability to act, in itself as passive as the abili- 
ty to smell. By means of the combination of the soul's 
ability to be active with its knowledge as a means of 
directing that activity, it becomes itself cause, or can 
produce change, whenever the " occasion is given / " 
that is, when it wants to produce change, and knows 
some means of doing it by its power to act. If the 
willing is not, in fact, the soul's only activity, it is con- 
ceivable that it might be, and in that case we might 
say the mind is active in willing ; or that, in willing, it 
is active; the willing being no more the efiect of its ac- 
tivity, than the activity is of its willing, nor one the 
cause of the other, any more than the other is the cause 
of it. It raises the same question as that to which we 
before alluded, as raised by Edwards's changing the 
word IN to BY in his first section (Part II.) on self- 
determination. In this aspect, the mind in willing, has 
a striking analogy to that of a body in motion. In de- 
fining Avill, I have, in explanation, said that it is the 
" mode in which intelligence exerts its power ; " and 
that " the willing is the condition of the mind in effort ; 
and is the only efibrt of which we are conscious." So 
of a moving body, motion is the mode in which it ex~ 
erts its power and is the condition of a body in chang- 
ing place. Activity is the mode in which spirit, or 
matter, exerts its power. In the case of intelligence 
this is manifested in willing ; and in that of matter by 
moving, or changing its place ; and though the body 
may move in moving, it cannot move hy moving ; for 
this making its move the cause of its moving or change 
of place, or the change of place the cause of its moving, 
11* 



250 EEVIEW OF EDWAEDS ON THE WILL. 

implies that, that which is thus deemed the cause is 
prior to the other ; but, as before intimated, they are 
really the same thing ; and hence, to make one the 
cause of the other, is to make a thing the cause of it 
self. So, also, if the willing by the mind is but a cer 
tain activity, that activity cannot be the cause of the 
willing, nor the willing the cause of the activity ; for 
this activity and the willing are one and the same thing, 
or express the same condition of the mind. The logic 
by which Edwards, in such cases, makes his favorite re- 
ductio ad absurdum, in an infinite series, may be ap- 
plied to any case, in which two equivalent terms, ex- 
pressing action, are used to define each other ; as, for 
instance, the mind is in a certain way active in willing ; 
or, in willing is in a certain way active ; or the mind 
wills in choosing, or chooses in willing y choosing and 
willing being taken, as in Edwards's system, as equiva- 
lents ; or a body moves in changing its position, or 
changes its position in moving. Between either jDair 
of equivalents substitute by for in, making one the 
cause of the other ; and then, being really the same 
thing, they must be simultaneous, and thus the cause 
must be both before and at the same time ; or, each 
may in turn, with equal reason, be alternately made 
the cause, and then the infinite series, admitting of no 
beginning or first action or cause, is reached. 

When Edwards says, " the question is not so much. 
How a spirit endowed with activity comes to act, as 
why it exerts such an act and not another, or why it 
acts with a particular determination ; " he really raises 
the main question as to whether the mind in willing a 
certain act, rather than any other of the many conceiv- 
able acts, is constrained to determine to adopt that act 



NO EVENT WITHOUT A CAUSE. 251 

bv power extrinsic to itself; for, if the determining or 
controlling power is not extrinsic to itself, it determine? 
and controls itself in the act of will, which, as we have 
already shown, is only another expression for its free- 
dom in willing. He subsequently puts the question in 
this form : " Why the soul of man uses its activity as it 
does," admitting that it is the soul, which uses its ac- 
tivity, but still leaving open the question as to whether, 
in such use, its act of volition is constrained by some ex- 
ternal power, or is its own action induced by considera- 
tions or causes within and of itself. 

If it is asked why God did not make 2 + 2 = 5, we 
can say that He may not have had any want to do it, 
and hence, would not make any effort to that end ; and 
further, that even with such want, the thing would 
have been impossible. The impossibility of reconciling 
contradictions is a condition of action, even to Infinite 
Power.* If asked, why He made the earth to revolve 
in a particular orbit, rather than in any other of the 
infinite number conceivable, we can only say, that He 
nmst have determined this from considerations purely 
His own, from His own perception or knowledge of its 
fitness, in other words, that it was self-determined. 
There may have been conditions required by His want 
to create and by what already existed. For instance, 
if matter was already in motion, and in virtue of its 
motion, was an extraneous blind power or force, it 
would furnish certain circumstances to be dealt with. 
It is conceivable that there may have been only the 
one particular orbit, which would fulfil the pm'poses 
of the Creator, and at the same time conform to the 
other or external conditions. The perception or the 
* See Appendix, Note XXXIX. 



252 REVIEW OF EDWARDS ON THE WILL. 

knowledge of this fact, must be the immediate reason 
for the selection and subsequent effort ; and this knowl- 
edge may have been the result of previous effort, or 
series of efforts, springing directly out of the want and 
such perceptions or knowledge as required no previous 
act of will. All such knowledge, combining with the 
knowledge of existing external and internal conditions, 
makes the sum of the circumstances which the mind has 
to consider in its decision as to its action, and which the 
mind alone can decide upon. 

If there is no application of knowledge required, 
the effort would be but that of a blind cause, which is 
to say, there could be no effort. To suppose that no 
effort is required, is to suppose that the conditions may 
themselves produce the effect. If the conditions them- 
selves necessitate one certain volition, then, as the abso- 
lute conditions at any moment are the same to all, all 
must have the same volition at the same moment, and 
if a volition is one of the necessary effects, not of all ex- 
isting conditions, but of those only of which the mind 
willing is cognizant, then, at the very moment in which 
the mind recognizes that such conditions exist, and is 
thus prepared to direct or to select its act in conformity 
with this new knowledge, the volition and any neces- 
sary sequence of it must already have been ; for, by 
this hypothesis, the mind's action, even in examining, 
is not essential to the direction of the act, which is con- 
trolled by the pre-existing and extrinsic conditions, all 
the effects of the mere existence of which must already 
have been brought about. If the volition in each 
being, varies with the particular conditions of which it 
is cognizant, there must be something which knows 
what conditions are recognized, and adapts the volition 



NO EVENT WITHOUT A CAUSE, 253 

to tliem, and if it be admitted that these conditions in- 
clude the circumstance that the mind itself perceives 
and conforms its act to them, then the mind, by that 
process, does determine its own act, and of course is free 
in that act. The examination by the mind, of the con- 
ditions under which it is about to act, is a preliminary 
effort to obtain the knowledge by which to direct its final 
action ; and its first act of examining is directed, not by 
the conditions, as yet unknown, but by means of its 
knowledge, intuitive or acquired, that such examina- 
tion is a proper preparation for further action. It feels 
a want and knows that the best mode of proceeding to 
gratify or to determine whether to gratify it or not, is to 
examine ,' and, liaviiig this want and this knowledge of 
means, it directs its action accordingly, i. e. on recog- 
nizing the want, it begins its action by an examination. 
If it already has a knowledge of the means by former 
experience, or by intuition, and has no expectation of 
finding any better means, it needs to examine only so 
far as to ascertain the existence of tlie circumstances, or 
conditions, which make the occasion for the application 
of such knowledge. If, in such cases, the mind acts 
directly upon its intuitive knowledge of the mode, or 
means, its action is instinctive ; but if it acts from memo- 
ry of past experience its action is habitual. It is mani- 
fest that the pre-existing and extrinsic conditions do not 
influence the volition, except as they may arouse want, 
or contribute to the knowledge by which the mind is 
enabled to decide what it will do, in regard to that 
want. 

If, to the question proposed by Edw^ards, " why the 
soul of man uses its activity as it does," it should be 
replied, that intelligence, from its very natnre, has a 



254 REVIEW OF EDWARDS ON THE WILL. 

faculty to determine, or to direct its activity, it would 
be in conformity to his own previous statements, that 
the mind has a faculty by which it wills, and that ar 
act of volition is a determination of the mind. If, there- 
after, he asks for a cause of the determination of the de- 
termination, or volition, it is like asking for the end of 
the end ; and to make a case analogous to that by which 
he has just argued that the nature of the activity of the 
soul cannot be the cause of its determination let it be 
asked, what is the cause, or reason that, a iinite right 
line has an end ; and let it be replied, that a finite line 
is limited in its nature and that, on this, the end or 
" thing so depends, that it is the ground and reason, 
either in whole, or in part, why it is rather than not, 
or why it is as it is rather than otherwise," and that 
this " truly belongs to the reason, why the proposition 
which affirms that event (or thing), is true ; " and there- 
fore this is the cause of the end. To tliis reasoning it 
might be objected that, the line's limited nature can- 
not be the cause of its having an end, because the cause 
must be exerted before the efi'ect ; and its limited nature 
can have no efi'ect, as cause, till it is exerted ; but the 
exercise, or application of its limited nature is a limit, 
or end ; and this exercise, or application must be before 
the limit, or end ; but the limited nature arises from 
there being a limit, or end ; and therefore, it must be 
before the limit, or end : and hence, cannot be the cause 
of the end : and this is parallel to Edwards's saying, 
" But the exercise of his activity, is action ; and so, his 
action, or exercise of his activity must be prior to the 
effects of his activity," &c. (p. 64), and to the reason- 
ing, which follows it. In the same way, too, it may be 
Baid that, the existence of the line is not a cause, or 



NO EVENT WITHOUT A CAUSE. 255 

reason wlij tlie ends of the line exist ; because, if so, 
the existence of the line must be before the existence 
of its ends, which again is absurd. But the existence 
of the line and its being finite, are the only two things 
or conditions upon which the existence, and even the 
manner of the existence, of the ends depend. If it now 
be said that the existence of the line and its limited 
nature are not cause, under Edwards's definition, for the 
reason that it requires that cause should be antecedent 
to the efl'ect ; then, it follows, that the existence of the 
end and the manner of the end may be determined by 
what, under Edwards's definition^ is not a cause ; which 
renders nugatory all his argument that the will must 
be determined by such a cause ; for that, he makes but 
one inference from his general proposition, that every- 
thing which begins to be, must have such a cause.* 

But it cannot be urged that, under Edwards's 
definitions, anything is not a cause, for the reason that 
it is not antecedent to the efi'ect ; for he thus defines 
what he means by being antecedent : " To say, it is 
caused, influenced and determined by something, and 
yet not determined by anything antecedent, either in 
order of time or nature, is a contradiction. For that is 
what is meant by a thing's being prior in the order of 
nature, that it is some way the cause or reason of the 
thing, with respect to which it is said to be prior " 
(p. 52). So that, a thing being prior to another, or not, 
may depend on the fact of its being the cause of that 
other, or not ; and hence, whenever Edwards argues, as 
he frequently does, that one thing cannot be the cause 
of another, because it is not prior to it, he begs the 
question ; for, under his definition, its being prior or 
* See Appendix, Note XL. 



256 REVIEW OF EDAVARDS OX TUE WILL. 

not, depends on whether it is the cause or not. Its 
being eau&e depends upon its being antecedent ; and its 
being antecedent depends upon its being cause. 

I have thus commented upon that portion of his 
argument which relates to cause, not so much to dis- 
prove its particular results, as to show generally, that 
the consequences, deduced from such a definition of 
cause, are not reliable, and really prove nothing. It 
must be borne in mind, that I do not deny the positions 
of Edwards that every event, which begins to be, must 
have a cause ; or the necessary dependence of that 
event upon its cause ; which I have endeavored to 
show, in their proper application, prove that the mind, 
itself being cause, wills freely. The prevailing tend- 
ency of most men to apj:)ly the results of tlieir observa- 
tion of the connection of cause and eftect in the ma- 
terial, to the spiritual, leads them to seek a cause, in 
thepast, for every change, and hence, 1o overlook the 
important fact, that intelligence, in virtue of its power 
to anticipate its effects in the future, is a Jlrst cause. 
We may follow the course of cause backward through 
a train of consecutive consequences and antecedents, 
till it comes to an intelligent will, as a first cause, when 
it doubles on its track and the reason of its action (the 
efl^'ect it preconceived) is found in the line over which 
we have been pursuing it ; thus eluding those, who still 
look for it beyond or in the past. 

Every act of Avill is the beginning of a series of 
which all the other terms are in the future ; and all its 
connection with the past is but the knowledge, whicli 
the mind uses in directing its own action, as an intelli- 
gent cause of future eflfects ; and this knowledge, at the 
time of the willing, is in the mind's view, is then in the 



NO EVICNT WIIHOUT A CAUSE. 207 

present and not in the past. If from an intelligent 
being w^e cut off, or annihilate all the past, or if to such 
being there never had been any past ; if it came into 
existence with want, and the knowledge of the mode 
of gratifying that want by acts of will or effort having 
reference only to the future, it conld still determine and 
direct its efforts as well as if it were conscious of a past 
in which it had obtained some or all of this knowledge. 

It may be said, that a being's coming into existence 
with such want and knowledge^ is an event which must 
have a cause in the past, with which it is necessarily 
connected and which determines the manner and mode 
of its existence ; but this does not affect tlie question 
of its freedom. If, from any cause, a being has come 
into existence with power to control and direct its own 
efforts, such being is free in such efforts, so that the 
question, is such being free, is not affected by the cause 
through which it came to exist. If it be said that the 
want and knowledge, which are necessary conditions of 
such a being, control the act of will, it may be replied, 
that neither of these, nor both combined, can make 
effort or will, unless they constitute the intelligent 
being that wills ; and, in that case, they also constitute 
a free agent. 

If every act of will is determined b}' the whole past, 
then that whole past is the cause of such act of will ; 
and being, at every instant, the same to all, if the same 
causes necessarily produce the same effects, every mind 
would will at the same instant and will the same thing. 
If the act of will in each is determined by that portion 
of the past of which he is cognizant, then there must be 
something to adapt the act, in each case, to this varia- 
tion in the knowledge of the past ; and this can only be 



258 



REVIEW OF EDWARDS ON THE WILL. 



done bj something which knows what this portion of the 
past is to which the act of will is to be adapted. This 
the " past" or other unintelligent cause cannot do. 

We shall have occasion to notice this supposed de- 
pendence of volition on a cause in the past, in examin- 
ing other portions of Edwards's argument, and espe- 
cially that in which he treats of motive as such a 
cause. 



CHAPTEE YI. 

OF THE WILL DETERMINING IN THINGS INDIFFERENT. 

Edwards says, " A great argument for self-deter- 
mining power is the supposed experience we univei'sally 
have of an ability to determine our wills, in cases 
wherein no prevailing motive is presented. The will, 
as is supposed, has its choice to make between two, or 
moi-e things, that are perfectly equal in the view of the 
mind, and the will is apparently altogether indifferent ; 
and yet we find no difficulty in coming to a choice ; the 
will can instantly determine itself to one, by a sovereign 
power, which it has over itself, without being moved by 
any preponderating inducement." (Sec. 6, p. 73.) This 
mode of stating the case seems to be warranted by the 
extracts which he makes from the writings of some of 
his opponents, but I think it is not well stated. Among 
other objections, it supposes the 'will to choose and, also, 
virtually assumes that the mind determines its act of 
will by a previous act of will ; and, as in Edwards's 
system, an act of will and choice are the same, it is not 
difficult under it to elaborate much absurdity from such 
a statement. In putting their argument into his own 
terms, he makes them say, that the will is apparently 



200 REVIEW OF EDWARDS ON THE WILL. 

altogetlier indifferent, and yet, we find no ditficulty in 
coming to a choice. Now, if will and we are not the 
same thing, if he does not embrace our whole being in 
will, this is merely saying that A is indifferent, and yet 
J3 finds no difficulty. In reply to one whom Edwards 
supposes to advocate the position as above stated, he 
says, " The very supposition which is here made, 
dii'ectly contradicts and overthrows itself. For the 
thing supposed, wherein this grand argument consists, 
is that among several things the will actually chooses 
one before another, at the same time that it is perfectly 
indifferent ; which is the very same thing as to say, the 
mind lias a preference at the same time that it has no 
preference." (Sec. 6, p. 74.) And again, " If it be pos- 
sible for the understanding to act in indifference, yet to 
be sure the will never does ; because the will's begin- 
ning to act is the very same thing as its beginning to 
choose or prefer. And if, in the very first act of the 
will, the mind prefers something, then the idea of that 
thing preferred does, at that time, preponderate or pre- 
vail in the mind ; or, wliich is the same thing, the idea 
of it has a prevailing influence on the will. So that 
this wholly destroys tiie thing supposed, viz. : that the 
mind can, by a sovereign power, choose one of two, or 
more things, which in the view of the mind are, in 
every respect, perfectly equal, one of which does not at 
all preponderate, nor has any prevailing influence on 
the mind above another." (Sec. 6, p. 76.) 

The whole force of this objection is subsequently 
more concisely thus stated : " To suppose the will to act 
at all in a state of perfect indifterence, either to deter- 
mine itself, or to do anything else, is to assert that the 
mind chooses without choosing " (sec. 6, p. 77) ; and 



OF WILLING IN THINGS INDIFFERENT. 261 

he might have added, in view of his definition, that 
this is to wasert that there is an act of the will, when 
there is no act of tlie wilL His opponents, however, 
taking his own statement, really make no such asser- 
tion ; and it is obvious that these objections to them, 
repeated as thej are in various forms, are but logical 
deductions from the assumption that the choosing by 
the mind is an act of will, or that an act of will and 
choice are identical ; upon which I have already com- 
mented. In Edwards's statement of the views of his 
opponents, as quoted at the commencement of this 
chapter, it is not clear what is meant by the phrase, 
" self-determining power." If it means only self-deter- 
mining power of the will, or that the mind determines 
its acts of will by other acts of will, it is, as before 
stated, wholly irrelevant to my position, which does not 
rest upon, or involve that dogma ; but if, as some of 
the subsequent remarks indicate, it also means a power 
in the mind to control its acts of will, it is proper that 
we should notice the arguments which deny this. 

In view of these several objections to the statement, 
as made by Edwards, I think the argument would be 
more fairly stated thus : A great argument for the self- 
determining power of the mind is the supposed expe- 
rience we universally have of an ability to will in cases 
where the mind is indifferent as to the several objects 
of choice, and has no preference among the several 
movements or modes by any one of which it perceives 
that it can accomplish some one of the several objects 
among which it is indifferent as to which one. This 
statement excludes all preference among several objects, 
some one of which it is desirable to obtain or to accom- 
plish ; also, all preference as to several modes of obtain- 



262 EEVIEW OF EDWARDS ON THE WILL. 

ing or accomplislung that object, some one of which 
must be adopted in order to accomplish it. It will be 
perceived that if the statement went farther than this, 
and made the mind also indifferent as to the accom- 
plishment of this one object, that, then, the mind would 
have no inducement in the premises to act, no want, 
and in such case there would be no act of will to reason 
about ; and if it went farther in another direction, and 
made the mind also indifferent as to its willing or not 
willing, thus assuming that it can have no preference 
even in that act, it would, in view of Edwards's defini- 
tion, entirely shut out the admitted act of will in the 
premises, and exclude the very question, which he 
really raises in this connection, viz. : how that act of 
will, or preference, or effort, which we put forth to 
make this movement or action, by which to obtain the 
object, is determined when there are several such ob' 
jects and several such movements all equal in the 
mind's view, and among which it has no preference and 
can find no ground for any. It would virtually assert 
that the mind did not, in such case, will at all ; and 
especially would it do this, under the system of Ed- 
wards, which makes preference and will the same. In 
the system I have advanced, this same result would also 
be reached ; for, if the mind is indifferent as to whether 
to will or not, it has no want to will ; or, at least, none 
which is not neutralized by a conflicting want, and it 
will not will. The statement I have suggested then, 
affirms all the indifference in regard to an act of will, 
which it can, without being self-contradictory. To illus- 
trate the statement, suppose a man wants only one egg 
of which there are several before him, each in his view 
equally good and equally easy to be obtained ; no 



OF WILLING IN THINGS INDIFFERENT. 263 

choice either in the eggs, or in the several inovoments, 
or actions necessary to obtain some one to gratify tlie 
want ; and yet the mind does will one of the many 
equal movements or actions, to obtain one of the many 
eggs, wliich are all equal in its view, and thus gratifies 
its want to have some one of them. It cannot be in- 
tended by the advocates of a self-determining power 
of the mind to say, that the mind determines to will 
when it has no object in willing ; when it has no de- 
sire to produce any effect and is wholly indifferent as 
to exercising its will ; and yet, the last objection quoted 
from Edwards, seems to assume that some of them take 
this position. If he merely refutes this position, as thus 
assumed, it cannot affect the system I have stated in 
Book First, for such an indifference wholly excludes the 
existence of a want, which, in that system, is a pre- 
requisite of the action of the mind in willing ; and, of 
course, in it, volition is precluded when there is no 
want. And if, when Edwards argues that the mind 
cannot wiD in a state of indifference, he means that it 
cannot will when there is not only no choice as to the 
several objects, or the several actions presented, but, 
also, no choice as to whether it acts at all in regard to 
any one of the equal objects or actions, he merely as- 
serts that the mind cannot will when it has no want for 
will, or cannot exert its power to influence the future 
when it does not want to exert it ; and, in this, the ad- 
vocates of freedom certainly need not differ with him. 
The particular cases which he cites, however, do permit 
the existence of such want, and, in other respects, con- 
form to the supposed indifference as I have stated it. 
He admits too, that in such cases, the mind does ac- 
tually will ; and to get over the difficulty, which, under 



264 REVIEW OF EDWARDS ON THE WILL. 

his system, arises from tlie existence of a volition, wlien 
there is nothing in the mind's view, no motive, to in- 
duce ih.Q j>artic alar preference^ which, by his theory, is 
that volition, he supposes the mind itself to devise a 
way of getting itself out of this state of indifi'erence, or 
this equilibrium, as to the objects of choice ; and thus 
to obtain the preference — the volition — which he admits 
does occur. He says : " Tlius, supposing I have a 
chess board before me ; and because 1 am required by 
a superior, or desired by a fi'iend, to make some experi- 
ment concerning my own ability and liberty, or on 
some other consideration, I am determined to touch 
some one of the spots or squares on the board with my 
finger ; not being limited or directed in the first pro- 
posal, or my own first purpose, which is general to any 
one in particular ; and there being nothing in the 
squares in themselves considered, that recommends any 
one of ail the sixty-four more than another " (pp. 77, 
78). The ditficulty here presented is, that the mind has 
determined to touch some one of the sixty-four squares, 
but perceives no ground of choice, and hence, cannot 
choose between them, or will to touch any one. To get 
over this difficulty Edwards goes on to say, " In this 
case, my mind gives itself up to what is vulgarly called 
accident, by determining to touch that square, which 
happens to be most in view, which my eye is especially 
upon at that moment, or which happens to be then 
most in my mind, or which I shall be directed to by 
some other such like accident. Here are several steps 
of the mind's proceeding, though all may be done as it 
were in a moment ; the first step is its general deter- 
mination, that it will touch one of the squares. The 
next step is another general determination to give itself 



OF WILLING m THINGS INDIFFERENT. 2G5 

up to accident, in some certain way ; as to toucli that 
which shall be most in the eye or mind, at that time, 
or to some other such like accident. The third and 
last step is a jpa/rticular determination to touch a cer- 
tain individual spot, even that sqnare, which, by that 
sort of accident, the mind has pitched upon, has actually 
offered itself beyond others." (Sec. 6, p. Y8.) In a 
note, he defines " what is vulgarly called accident," as 
" something that comes to pass in the course of things 
in some affair that men are concerned in, unforeseen and 
not owing to their designs." The object of this posi- 
tion seems to be, to show that, in such cases, admitting 
that the mind does will, yet it does not determine its 
own act of will, or preference ; but, that the act is de- 
termined by something extraneous to the mind and 
which, by it, is " unforeseen and not owing to its de- 
sign," and, if it could be established that the will, in 
such cases, is determined hy force of this " something," 
over which the mind has no control, it would seem to 
establish necessity at least in such cases. The argu- 
ment, however, appeal's to be unfortunate in many re- 
spects. While denying that the mind can by its own 
action, and without this " something," over which it 
has no control, get itself out of this state of indifference, 
it begins by showing how it can do so ; for when it 
says, " in this case the mind determines to give itself 
up to what is vulgarly called accident," it is the mind 
that does it. And more especially is it intended to 
deny, that the mind can get itself out of this dilemma 
by an act of volition. But in Edwards's system, and 
in any system to be of any avail, this determining of 
the mind " to give itself up to what is vulgarly called 
accident," must either be itself a volition, or be followed 
12 



266 REVIEW OP EDWARDS ON THE WILL. 

by a volition of that mind, whicli is thus made to get 
itself out of a state of indijfterence by means most espe- 
cially denied to it. That it does this by its own act of 
will, cannot, of course, be an argument against the 
liberty of the mind in willing. I have before remarked 
that the mind's forming a plan, in which, by successive 
acts of will, in a certain order, it reaches ends which it 
cannot reach by a direct act of will, is one of the ways in 
which it manifests its creative power ; and if, in cases 
of indifference, like those above cited, it plans to do 
that by indirection which it cannot do directly, it no 
more militates against its freedom, than does its succes- 
sive acts in obtaining, chewing and swallowing food to 
satisfy the hunger it cannot appease by a direct act of 
will. 

But it does not apppear to be at all certain, that the 
mind, in this case, is under any necessity to adopt this 
indirect mode, or even that it is thereby relieved of any 
of the supposed difficulty of willing directly. Even if 
the mind in willing, or choosing the particular square, 
is determined by the accident ; still, in determining to 
give itself up to accident, it is not determined by the 
accident ; for the accident itself is not yet determined, 
and may not even be in the view of the mind, which 
Edwards holds to be essential to every motive ; and 
hence, if the mind does not directly determine to give 
itself up to the accident and thus determine its own 
act, instead of the one question, as to how the mind 
determines the particular square, we have two other 
questions, firstly, how the mind determines to give 
itself up to accident, and, secondly, how it determines 
the particular accident by which its choice of the square 
is to bt' determined. By the hypothesis, the only object 



OF WILLING IN THINGS INDIFFERENT. 267 

the mind can have in giving itself np to the accident is 
to determine thereby which particnlar sqnare it will 
toncli ; and there must be many of these accidents 
among which the mind can have no possible preference, 
as one will answer the purpose exactly as well as 
another ; and the question arises, how the mind can 
prefer or choose one of these rather than another, any 
more than it can prefer or choose one of the sixty-four 
squares of the chess board. The mind's ability to make 
such choice, cannot arise from the nature of the acci- 
dent ; for, if we conceive of two accidents exactly oppo- 
site in their nature in every respect, still one will answer 
the purpose just as well as the other. It may be the 
passing of a cloud ; the shooting of a star ; the advent 
of a comet ; or the not happening of any of these 
events. That the occurring of one accident may be 
more agreeable than another can be Jio reason for the 
selection, for such selection lias no more influence to 
cause it to occur, than to cause it not to occur. As to 
the place of its occurrence, it is only essential to the 
purpose intended, that it should be within the limits 
of the mind's observation ; as to time, it is conceivable 
that the mind may have a preference ; it may prefer 
to be out of the state of indifl'erence as quickly as pos- 
sible, and hence, prefer to select such an accident as 
its knowledge indicates may soonest happen ; but if 
the application of this knowledge, by the mind, is not 
precluded by the condition that this accident is " some- 
thing unforeseen and not owing to its design," still, 
even with such conditions, there must be a great num- 
ber of such accidents, the chances of an early occur- 
rence of which are in the mind's view just equal ; and 
hence affording no ground of preference among them 



2()8 REVIEW OF EDWAKDS ON THE WILL. 

in this respect. The ground of preference cannot be 
in the effect of the accident, not even in the preconcep- 
tion of the effect, for tlie only effect that can come into 
notice at all, is the determining that, in regard to the 
determination of which the mind is indifferent ; and 
tliis consideration of itself seems to preclude all ground 
of preference among the conceivable accidents, except 
that in regard to time, as just mentioned ; and, any 
such preference must, under Edwards's system, be an 
act of will ; and determination of a subsequent act of 
will by it would be the will's determining itself, which 
is the thing he denies. But, however this may be, it 
is certain that the mind may be as indifferent as to the 
selection of a particular accident from among a number 
of accidents, any one of which will answer its purpose 
equally well, as it can be in regard to the particular 
square on the chess board ; and hence, will be as un- 
able to determine the particular accident to be selected 
for use, as to determine the particular square to be 
touched, and we have a recurrence of the difficulty in 
the very means devised to surmount it. 

In the particular case which Edwards selects, he 
seems to avoid some of these difficulties. He says, " by 
determining to touch that square which happens to be 
most in view, which my eye is especially upon at that 
moment," &c. &c. This, however, is not such an acci- 
dent as lie defines, " as unforeseen," for it has already 
OGGurred^ is seen, and is a part of the certain knowledge 
of the mind ; and if he should adopt such events, instead 
of the accidents just considered, and thus avoid some 
of the difficulties which arise with them, he would im- 
mediately encounter another ; for, if the certain knowl- 
edge of the mind can be used, in place of the accident, 



OF WILLING m THINGS LNDIFFEEENT. 269 

to determine tbe cuse of indifference, one can as well 
Bay, I will touch a certain square because 2 + 2=4, as 
because loy eye happens to rest ujDon it ; for, if the 
indifterence actually existed while the eye was thus rest- 
ing upon it, that fact, of itself, could not prevent the in- 
difference any more than the fact that 2 + 2=4, could 
prevent it ; and the same of any other fact known at the 
time of the indifference. If I know that by accident 1 cut 
my finger yesterday, it will no more help me out of a 
present case of indifference, than any other known fact. 
I know that on the chess board there is a square in one 
particular corner, and I can just as well determine to 
touch that particular square without the knowledge of 
any previous accident as with it. To do this, one of the 
preparatory steps is to direct the eye to that square, 
and, when the indifference is only as to what square is 
touched, selecting one to which the eye is already di- 
rected, saves one preparatory step in the process ; but, 
if this is the consideration which prevails, then it ceases 
to be a case of indifference ; for the mind, though still 
indifferent as to the sqttare touched, is not indifferent as 
to the action in touching. Among the circumstances 
already existing, and in that examination of them, which 
the mind habitually, and perhaps, in the first instance 
instinctively makes, it then perceives a reason for oni' act 
rather than any other, and it is not such a case of in<.:if- 
ference as the argument supposes ; it does not differ fr^^m 
cases comprehending a large proportion of those practi- 
cally arising, in which the mind by a ] relinunary par 
ticular effort examines before it decides, or even inclines 
to any particular final action. But, be this as it may, 
it must be admitted that an event of which the exist- 
ence is already certain is not su(;h an accident as Ed 



270 REVIEW OF EDWARDS ON THE WILL. 

wards contemplates or deiines ; and, if he means that 
the movement of tlie eye is to be subsequent to the de- 
termination of the mind to give itself up to the acci- 
dent of its movement, then he has selected an event 
which is dependent on that mind's will, which it can 
foresee and must design ; and the difficulty is solved hy 
the mind's own self-determined act of will. It is making 
the act of the mind in willing to touch a particular 
square, depend upon the act of the mind in willing the 
movement of the eye ; and such a solution of the diflfi- 
culty becomes an argument for the self-direction or free- 
dom of the mind in willing. 

If it be said that the movement of the eye, though 
the efi'ect of design and volition, is still so far accidental 
that the mind can direct it to the board without direct- 
ing it to any particular square, the same may also be said 
of the movement of the finger. Why not, then, make 
the movement of the iinger, in the act of touching it, 
the means of determining? I apprehend that the 
movement of the eye has been selected rather than that 
of the finger, only because we are less sensible of the 
uncertainty of a muscular eifort upon the hand, than 
upon the eye. The movement of either to a particular 
point, requires care ; and to do it with facility, that 
skill or ready apprehension of the required muscular 
movements and their successive order, which results 
from practice, inducing habit. It must be learned. 
The child is not at once able to direct the movement 
of its hand to a particular spot ; and though we may 
learn to do it with great certainty and facility, we never 
do it without some care and attention. We learn about 
what amount and what kind of muscular movement are 
required to move the hand to a particular point, but 



OF WILLING IN THINGS INDIFFERENT. 271 

still, we are generally obliged to watch the result and 
to modify the movement as it approaches the destined 
spot. This is evident from the fact that if we close one 
eye, so that we cannot so readily see the position of the 
finger and measure the relative distances of it and tlie 
spot to be touched, we must move it much more slowly 
as it approaches the spot, than we need to do with both 
eyes open, or we shall be very liable to miss it alto- 
gether. The movements of the eye are, no doubt, sub- 
ject to a similar uncertainty and require similar care 
properly to direct them, though such care is less ob- 
servable than in the case of the finger. 

If, on the other hand, it be said that the movement 
of the finger is too certain and, therefore, not sufficiently 
accidental to answer the purpose of the mind in getting 
itself out of a state of equilibrium, it may withhold this 
care; or the eyes may be partially or wholly closed, 
and thus any required degree of uncertainty obtained 
in the movement of the finger. The movement of the 
finger thus, under certain obtainable circumstances, 
partakes as much of the nature of an accident as the 
movement of the eye; and hence, Edwards might as 
well have made the movement of the finger and its 
resting on a particular spot the reason for touching that 
spot, as to have made use of the movement of the eye 
for that pui'pose ; and this would be to make the mind 
determine the act of touching in the act of ti^oching ; 
or to determine its act directly instead of indirectly 
through, or by another act; and this, -so far as the act 
has reference to touching a particular square, excludes 
Edwards's idea that the act is determined by that " mo- 
tive," which " has some sort or degree of tendency or 
advantage to excite the yvWl previous to the effect." 



272 EKVIEW OF EDWARDS ON THE WILL. 

It is liowever olivions that the jBnger, in its approach 
to, or in its first contact with the board, may come 
into a position, wliich, in the view of the mind, is just 
equal as to some two, or some four squares, and that the 
same is also true of the eye ; and hence, in either case, 
the difficulty of indifference may again occur ; and 
Edwards has evidently selected that, which, so far as it 
is an accident, is liable to the difficulty of indifference 
in its application, even after the difficulty of indiffisr- 
ence in selecting it has been sui-mounted. But, sup- 
posing the difficulty of indifference in selecting the acci- 
dent to be gotten over, and that, in some way, the mind 
" has pitched upon " " that sort of accident " by which 
" a certain individual spot " " has actually offered itself 
beyond others ; " in what way does the " accident," a 
passing cloud, for instance, determine the particular 
square to be touched, or the action by which it is to be 
touched? In what way can it be cause at all, and, es- 
pecially, in what way can it be the cause of the deter- 
mination by the mind to touch a j>articiila)' square, or 
of its act of will to touch, or of its cJiocsing or prefer- 
ring a particular square to be touched ? There mani- 
festly may be nothing in the event or accident itself, 
tending to such effects or results any more than there 
is in the fact that 2 + 2 = 4; as well suppose the 
square itself to determine, as the event itself to deter- 
mine. There is evidently no less difficulty in selecting 
one particular accident from among myriads of acci- 
dents, all equal for its purpose, than in selecting one 
particular square from the sixty-four, all likewise equal. 
There is then no more difficulty in selecting the square, 
than in selecting the accident, to say nothing of the 
difficulties of indifierence, before suggested, in applying 



OF WILLING m THINGS INDIFFERENT. 273 

the accident after it is selected. It is obvious that the 
whole causal efficacy in the case must subsist, not in 
the event, or accident, but in some rule which the mind 
itself makes in the pi-eniises ; as, for instance, that if the 
cloud passes easterly a certain square shall be touched ; 
and if westerl}^, then another certain square. Such a 
rule would conform to Edwards's hypothesis " that 
it will touch that square, which happens to be most 
in view," &c. But how does the mind determine 
this rule as to the square to be touched ? It has no less 
indifi'erence and no more preference as to which of the 
sixty-four squares each division of the rule shall be ap- 
plicable, nor to which two of the sixty-four the whole 
rule shall apply, than it has as to which one shall be 
touched. Again, supposing this difficulty surmounted ; 
if the mind makes a mere arbitrary rule, that, if the 
cloud passes easterly it will touch a certain square, and, 
if westerly, another certain square, being still indiifer- 
ent as to which of tlie squares is touched, it can cer- 
tainly just as well make the rule that, if it passes west- 
erly, the same and not another certain square is to be 
touched, thus making it certain that, let it pass which 
way it will, one particular square is to be touched ; and 
this being the same as determining, in any event^ to touch 
one certain square, it follows that the event and the 
rule of its application may be dispensed with alto- 
gether ; or, in other words, the mind can as well direct- 
ly determine the particular square to be touched, as 
it can the particular square to the touching of which 
the event and rule shall apply when it is indifferent as 
to which it will touch ; and, consequently, as to which 
the event and rule shall apply. Suppose, however, we 
in some way overcome all these difficulties of making 
12* 



274 KEviEw or edwaeds on the will. 

and applying a rule to a certain square in preference to 
other squares, when, by the hypothesis, there is not and 
canuot be any ground for such preference, and that the 
rule is actually made and applied, the whole efficacy, 
the whole causative power or influence to determine 
the mind in willing to one particular square, is in the 
mind's making the rule and abiding by it ; or, which is 
the same thing, the mind's governing itself by an ar- 
bitrary rule of its own creation, which is to assert for it 
a freedom equal to that of Omnipotence. It is a free- 
dom apparently even beyond that which I have asserted 
for it, in governing itself by the knowledge, intuitive or 
acquired, which it has merely found and has not itself 
created ; and the mind, in the supposed indirect mode 
of determining in cases of indiiference, would exhibit 
not only nioi'e creative power and more contrivance, 
but give stronger expi'ession of its freedom than it 
could do in difectly deteimining its acts of will in such 
cases. Again, the rule, even after it has been created 
by the mind, has in itself no causative power. It is the 
mind's abiding by it and thus executing it, that gives 
it all its efficacy and causality ; and hence, the hy- 
pothesis of Edwards, that the mind gives itself up to 
accident, if true, only proves that the mind adopts a 
course by which it determines its own volitions under 
the circumstances which are supposed to present the 
• greatest difficulties to its so doing ; and by a means as 
arbitrary and self-originated, as a direct determination 
of the act of willing to touch the particular square 
would be ; and notliiug is lost to tlie argument in favor 
of freedom, or gained to that in favor of necessity by 
the indirection. 

The supposed cases of indifference, however, do seem 



OF WILLING Dif THINGS INDIFFERENT. 275 

to militate against the tlieorj of Edwards, for they ad^ 
mit an act of will, when there is nothing without the 
mind, and bo previous bias or inclination in it, to direct 
its action. All that Edwards calls motive is, there- 
fore, excluded bj the hypothesis ; and his attempt to 
bring in some extraneous event, and thus get a con- 
sh'UGtive motive, entirely failing, the whole decision has 
to be referred directly to the intelligence that wills, act- 
ing without that preference or choice in regard to the 
objects presented, which usually is a portion of the 
knowledge by which the mind determines its action. 
So far as relates to a particular square or act, neither 
the motive which in his system is essential to the will- 
ing, nor the preference which, in it, is the willing itself, 
appears to have any existence, or to be possible in his 
supposed cases of inditference. The argument of Ed- 
wards assumes that it is necessary that the mind should 
not only choose to touch, but that it should also choose 
among the ohjects of touch. In his system, to will is to 
choose, and there can be no act of will but as an act of 
choice. If this choice must be a choice among the ex- 
trinsic ohjects of effort, in the sense in which he applies 
it to the square of the chess board, then a man never 
could thus will, when there was only one such object ; 
a man could not will to take one egg unless there were 
at least two eggs to choose from, for with less than two, 
there could be no choice among the objects of choice. 

It not only is not necessary to the linal action to de- 
liberate and decide, or to choose among ohjects which 
we immediately perceive to be equal, but it is not ne- 
cessary that we should so choose among those in which 
we know or suppose there is a difference. I may, with 
my eyes open, thrust my hand into an uncovered basket 



276 REVIEW OF EDWAEDS ON THE WILL. 

of apples with as little regard to selection as if a cover, 
or my eyelids concealed tliem from my sight. In such 
cases, and in cases in which there is obviously no choice, 
I take as if there were but one, without choice, and be- 
stow no more care upon the act than is necessary to di- 
rect my hand to the mass, and not to grasp more than 
one. 

In reference to the bearing of the views, elicited in 
Book Fii'st, upon such cases of indifterence, I would ol)- 
serve that, in the case we have been considering, the 
want to touch one and only one of the squares, is the 
whole ground of the mind's acting at all ; that delibera- 
tion is not, perhaps, entirely excluded ; but that, at the 
moment of commencing the examination, the mind per- 
ceives that there is no dill'erence in the objects present- 
ed ; and hence, dispenses with any further exercise of 
its power of comparing and judging ; it being, as before 
stated, for the mind to decide, by the exercise of its 
judgment, how Jong it will examine a subject before de- 
ciding its final action in regard to it. That it must pos- 
sess the power to thus end an examination and to judge 
of how far it will examine, is evident in almost every 
act of will, and even in cases of inditference, which, 
comparison as to the objects being useless, seem more 
nearly to exclude the exercise of the judgment than 
any other. For instance, in the act of touching a 
square on the chess board, the movements of the hand 
by which this may be accomplished are absolutely in- 
iinite, for there is no limit to the straight, curved and 
zigzag lines by which the hand may be moved to the 
board ; and if the mind must examine each one and 
compare it with the others before it decides in which 
one it will move its hand to the board, it would never 



or WILLING IN THINGS INDIFFERENT. 277 

get ready to will to move at all ; and as it does will, 
it must have the power to will, not only without choos- 
ing among all the objects of choice, buo even without 
that examination and comparison which are essential to 
choosing among them all. The fact seems to be that 
the mind having perceived some mode of action, which 
will gratify its want, determines of itself by the pre- 
liminary exercise of its judgment, whether to adopt that 
mode, or look further for a better mode before adopt- 
ing it ; and that it often acts in doubt as to whether it 
has made a sufficient examination. How much time may 
be devoted to such examination, as already stated, is a 
matter of which the mind, in view of the circumstances, 
must judge. A man who has not long fasted, may 
seek the stalled ox and pass the dinner of herbs, which 
one famishing with hunger could not prudently do. 
When the mind comes to the conclusion — judges or 
knows — that the chances of advantage by further ex- 
amination are balanced by the chances of disadvantage 
from the incident delay, it will cease to examine and will 
decide and act with such knowledge as it has ; but more 
especially, as in cases of inditference, when it knows 
that no examination will i-eveal anv advantag-e, will it 
cut off the examination and immediately determine its 
action. It would seem to be natural, or in conformity 
to that constitution which God has given to the finite 
mind, that it should will immediately on perceiving 
any mode of gratifying a want that it feels ; though it 
is quite conceivable that the knowledge of deliberation 
as a means of adapting its acts to cii-cumstances, or as 
essential to safety, may be intuitive. An animal with 
only one want and with no other knowledge than that 
of oi.e means of gratifying it, would immediately will ; 



278 REVIEW OF EDWARDS ON THE WILL. 

but in a being with conflicting wants and a knowledge 
of various modes of gratifying them, and also of various 
consequences of the gratification, to will becomes a more 
complicated matter. Even then, as before suggested, 
want may become so imperative, as in the case of im- 
minent danger, sudden and violent excitement, and of 
appetites habitually um-estrained and nurtured into 
passion, that it shuts out all secondary considerations, 
all the results of its acquired knowledge and experience, 
all deliberation as to consequences ; and acts as if it 
knew but the one want and the one mode of its gratifi- 
cation ; and in such case, is reduced to a condition simi- 
lar to that of an animal with mere intuitive knowledge 
and consequent instinctive action. But it may be as- 
serted as a matter of fact, that in most cases the human 
mind avails itself of a variety of knowledge in the mode 
of gratifying its wants ; and especially of its past ex- 
perience as to the subsequent eliect of different modes, 
which requires examination and an exercise of its powers 
of conceiving, comparing and judging ; and this exami- 
nation is an element which the mind itself, in virtue of 
its intelligence, its knowledge, intuitive or acquired, in- 
troduces between its want and its final action.* But 
in a case in which, by the hypothesis, there can be no 
difference in the proposed modes of gratifying the want 
and no use in such examination, the mind in recogniz- 
ing this fact, dispenses with the examination ; and thus 
instead of adding a new process to aid its determina- 
tion in such cases, as Edwards supposes, it merely 
omits, wholly or partially, one to wliicli it is accustomed 
to resort in other cases. Tlie mind wanting to touch 
one of the squares and perceiving that there can be no 

* See Appendix. Note XLI. 



OF WILLING IN THINGS INDIFFERENT. 279 

preference between them, omits the preliminary effort 
to judge and decide as to such preference, and decides 
arbitrarily as between them, or as to some known 
modes by which the finger can be placed on some one 
of these squares without having found any ground for 
preference, for the reason that such a decision is neces- 
sary to gratify its want. 

In otlier cases the mind may be aware that tliere 
may be reasons for one act rather than another, which 
it cannot take time to ascertain, because of the necessity 
of immediate action ; or will not, because in its judg- 
ment, the time requireci can be more advantageously 
employed ; and it cuts short the deliberation, deciding 
with such knowledge as it has. In the case of indiffer- 
ence we cut short this deliberation the moment we per- 
ceive that it cannot possibly reveal any new or better 
ground of action, and determine the matter in a direct 
act of will. It may be said, that at the moment of 
coming to the decision not, or no longer to deliberate, 
s)me one square must be in the mind's view, or which, 
as Edwards supposes, "the eye is especially upon at that 
moment." But suppose the attention or the eye is at 
that moment directed to the line common to two, or to 
the point common to four squares, it is still a case of 
indifference, to be determined by the direct and arbi- 
trary act of the mind, when there is nothing external 
to it to control or direct, or even influence its choice 
or its effort, making a strong case of the exercise of its 
free creative power, as an originating first cause of 
change in the future ; and as already stated, if the mind 
does this, as asserted by Edwards, by means of an ar- 
bitrary rule of its own making or adopting, it is a still 
stronger manifestation of its power and of its freedom. 



280 REVIEW OF EDWARDS ON THE WILL. 

It may not be wholly irrelevant here to observe that 
these supposed cases of selecting in things indifi'erent 
are somewhat analogous to that we have before sug 
gested, in which the mind wants to will for the mere 
exercise of its faculty of will, without reference or 
pi'eference as to what it wills ; and as, in that case, 
after deciding to gratify its want, there is neither object, 
present or future, nor mode of obtaining the object be- 
tween the want and the willing, which is itself the 
object, there is no room for deliberation between, and 
the want to will is gratified by a direct act of will, 
without the preliminary processes of comparing and 
judging to select among the objects and modes. So, in 
the case oiindifference as to the object and the modes 
of attaining it, the mind having determined to attain 
one of the objects, by one of the modes, as soon as it 
perceives that, as supposed, there is really nothing to 
examine, no room for deliberation between its want to 
touch ^\i.d its will to touch, nothing but this act of will 
needed between its want and the effect, which is to 
gratify its want ; it wills directly in the premises. 

It may throw some further light on this curious 
problem to remark that Edwards's hypothesis of an ar- 
bitrary rule in these cases of indifference seems to de- 
rive some plausibility from an apparent analogy to the 
deciding between two parties having equal rights. 
For instaace, two persons have equal claims to some- 
thing which is indivisible and must be possessed wholly 
and at all times by one and not by the other, any divis- 
ion of the substance of the thing, or of the time of its 
possession destroying its value. In such cases the cir- 
cumstances suggest a decision by what Edwards calls 
accident ; something which neither of the interested 



OF WILLING I3Sr THINGS INDIFFEKENT. 281 

parties can foresee or control, as the drawing of lots, 
throwing of dice, &c. ; but here the elements of justice 
and of two conflicting wills to be reconciled, really 
make all the necessity for resorting to an accident 
which is beyond their prescience and control, that each 
may have, under the rule adopted, an equal chance. 
If the matter were referred to one other will, to an im- 
partial judge, the action of whose mind, in such case 
no human intelligence could prognosticate, his decision, 
or rather his action, a mere arbitrary act of his will — 
there being by the hypothesis no possible reason why 
he should decide one way rather than another, — would 
be such an accident as Edwards suggests, and do just 
as well as drawing lots, or throwing dice. If the judge 
should order the case decided by lot, he would still 
have to make an arbitrary rule, as that he who draws 
number one shall have the thing ; or that he who 
draws number two, shall have it. It is evident that 
he could just as w^ell decide between the two equal 
claimants, as between the two equal rules. He must 
resort to this mode then, not because it is any easier, 
but for some other reason, as, for instance, to satisfy 
the parties or himself, that the decision is impartial, or 
that each really had an equal chance ; or to avoid the 
unpleasant duty of depriving, by his own direct act, 
one or the other of his equal right. The analogy, then, 
furnishes no ground for the supposed necessity of re- 
sorting to an " accident " to determine the will in 
cases of inditFerence, where there is no question of per- 
sonal right or interest. Still another reason for the 
supposed difhculty, or inability of the mind to deter- 
mine in cases of " indifference," as urged by Edwards, 
is its apparent analogy to cases of mere matter, kept at 



282 KEVIEW OF EDWAKDS ON THE WILL. 

rest by external forces acting equally upon it in all 
directions. An argument from such analogy really 
begs the question ; for the only reason why mere mat- 
ter is thus kept at rest is that it lias no self-moving 
power or faculty within it, no means of moving itself, 
which is the very thing asserted and denied of intelli- 
gence or mind, in this controversy as to its freedom in 
willing. If we suppose mere matter to have a self-im- 
pelling force imparted to it, by motion or otherwise, 
then, if acted upon equally in all directions by other 
forces, it moves by its self-impelling force, precisely as 
if these other equal and conflicting forces were annihi- 
lated ; they neutralize each other. And so, if the mind 
has a self-determining power in itself, then, if equally 
acted upon in all directions by external forces, its in- 
ternal force would be unimpaired, and the moment it 
knows that the various objects or modes of its action 
presented to it are all exactly equal, it decides among 
them as readily and as easily as if there were only one 
such object or mode, and the sole question was as to 
adopting it, or not acting at all. We before reached 
this same result which seems to be attested by observa- 
tion, indicating the existence of su(;h a power. A man 
wanting one egg, and having decided to gratify the 
want, may particularly examine every one of a number 
before him, and having satisfied himself that, so far as 
he can know, all are equal, he takes one without further 
hesitation. Among the infinite modes of taking it, he 
decides among those apparently equal, in the same 
way. So, also, a man wanting to touch one of the 
squares on the chess board, has already, in virtue of the 
constitution of his being, his faculty of effort, his want 
and his knowledge, a certain inherent force which is not 



OF WILLING IN THINGS INDIFFERENT. . 283 

ajffected by the presence of sixty-four sqii:ires in all 
respects equal ; and the moment he perceives their cer- 
tain equality, he touches one of them as readily as if 
there were only one to touch, having first decided to 
touch one rather than not to touch. If there were only 
one, the same supposed difficulties might arise as to 
what particular spot upon that one to touch ; or by 
which of the infinite lines of movement to approach it. 
In all these cases, as already intimated, it is not neces- 
sary that the mind should even ascertain that the ob- 
jects and modes are all equal ; but only, that the 
chances of advantage by its finding any ground of 
preference or otherwise, are, in its judgment, not suffi- 
cient to warrant the application of further time and 
labor to the investigation. 



CHAPTER VII. 

KELATION OF INDIFFERENCE TO FREEDOM IN WrLLING. 

In his seventh section (Part II), Edwards considers 
the notion of " Liberty of Will consisting in indiffer- 
ence," using the term indifference as directly opposed 
to preference. He argues that " to make out this 
scheme of liberty tlie indifference must be perfect and 
absolute. * * * Because, if the will be already in- 
clined before it exerts its own sovei'eign power on itself, 
then its inclination is not wholly owing to itself" 
(p. 85). By will Edwards asserts he means the soul 
willing (p. 43 j. He also makes inclination, choice and 
preference each synonymous with act of will (p. 2). The 
statements on the same page with the above quotation 
also clearly show that Edwards liere uses the terms 
inclination, choice and preference as synonyms, viz. : 
" Surely the will cannot act or choose contrary to a 
remaining prevailing inclination of the will. To sup- 
pose otherwise, would be the same thing as to suppose 
that the will is inclined contrary to its present prevail- 
ing inclination.^ or contrary to what it is inclined to. 
That which the will chooses and prefers, that, all things 
considered, it preponderates and inclines to. It is 



RELATION OF INDIFFEKENCE TO FREEDOM. 285 

equally impossible for the will to clioose contrary to its 
own remaining and present preponderating inclination, 
as it is io) jprefer contrary to its own y^q'&qwX. jpreference^ 
or choose contrary to its own present choice " (p. 85). 
By substitution of these equivalents, the argument just 
quoted will stand thus : Because^ if the soul willing he 
already willing, hefore it exerts its own sovereign power 
on itself, then its willing is not wholly owing to itsef. 
It is obvious that such statements must be fruitless. 
But farther, by the will exerting its owai sovereign 
power on itsL'lf, he nmst mean the smil willing, exerting, 
&c. ; and the argument then amounts only to this : 
Because if the soul %Lnlling he already willing hefore it 
wills, then its willing is not wholly owing to itself j that 
is, if the soul wills when it is not willing, or does not 
will, then its willing is not wholly owing to itself. The 
inference which Edwards himself draws from these 
positions is : " Therefore, if there be the least degree of 
prepond oration of the will, it must be perfectly abol- 
ished, before the will be at liberty to determine itself 
the contrary way;" which, though somewhat obscured 
by introducing new terms, as prepouderation for incli- 
nation, really, under his definitions, only asserts that, 
while the soul is in any degree willing one way, it can- 
not be willing the contrary way. Throughout this sec- 
tion there is much confusion and sophistry from using 
the term inclination as identical witli will, and yet as 
something which goes before and influences the will. 
Th.e same, to some extent, may also be remarked of the 
terms choice and preference. This confusion is further 
increased by the frequent use of the' term will, as a 
synonym for mind or soul. After assuming " as an 
axiom of undoubted truth that every free act is done in 



286 KEVIEW OF EDWARDS ON THE WILL. 

a state of freedom and not onlj after sucli a state," he 
says, " Now the question is, whether ever the soul of 
man puts forth an act of will, while it yet remains in a 
state of liberty, in that notion of a state of liberty, viz. : 
as implying a state of indifference, or whether the soul 
ever exerts an act of choice or preference, while at that 
very time the will is in a perfect equihbrium, not in- 
clining one way more than another. The very putting 
of the question is sufficient to show the absurdity of the 
affirmative answer ; for how ridiculous would it be for 
anybody to insist, that the soul chooses one thing before 
another, when, at the very same instant, it is perfectly 
indifferent with respect to each ! This is the same 
thing as to say the soul prefers one thing to another at 
the very same time that it has no preference. Choice 
and preference can no more be in a state of indifference, 
than motion can be in a state of rest, or than the pre- 
ponderation of the scale of a balance can be in a state of 
equilibrium. Motion may be the next moment after 
rest ; but cannot co-exist with it, in any, even the least 
part of it. So choice may be immediately after a state 
of indifference, but has no co-existence with it ; even 
the very beginning of it is not in a state of indifference. 
And therefore, if this be liberty, no act of will in any 
degree, is ever performed in a state of liberty, or in the 
time of liberty " (p. 88). This portion of the argument 
now stands thus : The soul of man never puts forth an 
act of will while it is in a state of indifference, or not 
choosing or preferring ; for this is to will when it does 
not will ; and as, if the freedom of the act of will con- 
sists in indifference, the act of will must be in the time 
of sucli indifference, there can be no such free act of 
will. If .any, using the terms in the sense that Ed- 



RELATION OF INDIFFERENCE TO FREEDOM. 287 

wards u-ses them, have asserted such freedom, i. e., that 
the freedom of the mind in willing consists in its will- 
ing when it is in a state of indiflPerence, or not willing 
at all, their position is sufficiently refuted. Edwards 
also considers the position of those who, " to evade the 
reasoning should say that, the thing wherein the will 
exercises its liberty, is not in the act of choice or pre- 
ponderation itself, but in determining itself to a certain 
choice or preference ; that the act of the will M'herein 
it is free and uses its own sovereignty, consists in its 
causing or determining the change, or transition from 
a state of indifference to a certain preference, or deter- 
mining to give a certain turn to the balance, which has 
hitherto been even " (p. 90). This is only a particular 
case of the general proposition just mentioned, involv- 
ing, under Edwards's definition, the same absurdity of 
the mind's willing the " change or transition," when, 
being in a state of indifference, it is not willing at all ; 
and so far this argument only proves that the mind 
cannot both v/ill, and not will, at the same time, which 
no one will dispute. 

Edwards further asserts that a free act of will can- 
not " directly and immediately arise out of a state of in- 
difference," Now, under his definitions, every act of 
will, choice or preference, which begins to be must 
spring directly from a state of indifference ; for, as he 
uses the terms, the mind must be either in a state of 
indifference or of preference, and never can be in both ; 
so that, the instant it ceases to be in one of these states, 
it is of necessity in the other ; and if any particular 
preference was not preceded by a state of indiffer- 
ence as to what is thus preferred, the mind must ahvays 
Iiave had that preference and been engaged from all 



288 KEVIEW OF EDWARDS ON THE WILL. 

eternity in that act of will, which, in Edwards's system, 
is designated by this particular preference. It is evi- 
dent that no such act of will is possible to a being, 
whose existence has had a beginning ; and as, nnder the 
assumed conditions, every other act must have sprung 
directly from a state of indifierence, when it rs proved 
that 2^ free act of will cannot directly and immediately 
spring out of a state of indifference, it will also have 
been proved, under these detinitions and assumptions, 
that no free act of will is possible to a being whose 
past existence has been finite. Edwards thus attempts 
this proof: "If any to evade these things should own 
that a state of liberty and a state of indifference are not 
the same, and that the former may be without the lat- 
ter, but should say that indifFeren(;e is still essential to 
the freedom of an act of will, in some sort, namely, as 
it is necessary to go imnuidiately hefore it j it being es- 
sential to the tVeedom of an act of will that it should 
directly and immediately arise out of a state of indiff'er- 
ence ; still this will not help the cause of Arminian 
liberty, or make it consistent with itself. For if the act 
springs immediately out of a state of indifr'erence, then 
it does not arise from antecedent choice or prefereiice. 
But if the act arises directly out of a state of indiffer- 
ence, without any intervening choice to choose and de- 
termine it, then the act, not being de-termined by choice, 
is not determined by the will ; the mind exercises no 
free choice in the affair, and free choice and free will 
have no hand in the determination of the act, which is 
entirely inconsistent with their notion of the ft-eedom 
of volition " (pp. 91, 92). It will be observed that this 
argument assumes that choice is a necessary element 
01 free will, and is that element which distinguishes it 



EELATION OF INDIFFERENCE TO FREEDOM. 289 

from unfree will, wliich, if asserted generally and taken 
in connection with tlie assertion of Edwards that, " to 
will and to choose are the same thing " (p. 91), is anal- 
ogous to saying that water is a necessary element of 
hot water, and is that element which distinguishes it 
from cold water. That the free act of will must be im- 
tnediately preceded and determined by choice is here 
assumed ; and this, if choice is also deemed an act of 
will, involves the notion, attiibiited by Edwards to the 
Arminians, that a free act of will must be determined 
by a preceding act of will ; and hence, Edwards's in- 
ference that the position, that a free act of will is im- 
mediately preceded by indifference and not by choice 
or act of will, is inconsistent with their notion of liberty. 
It is obvious that this reasoning is directed only against 
those who assert that a tree act of will must co-exist 
with, or " immediately arise out of a state of indiffer- 
ence ; " and that it avails even as against those, only on 
the assumption that indifference is that state of the 
mind in which it has no choice or preference ; that 
choice is a necessary antecedent and the immediate an- 
tecedent difree will ; and tliat to will is the same thing 
as to prefer or choose. 

I infer, from Edwards's statements, that the Ar- 
minians hold that the choice of the mind, is a pre- 
requisite of a free act of will ; and yet that choice and 
act of will are the same ; and thus, in asserting the 
mind's freedom in willing, were forced to the position 
that the freedom was exercised in a state preceding that 
of choice ; a state, which was not that of choice ; and 
consequently, in his and their use of terms, was a state 
of indifference. As I do not assert what this argument 
opposes, and deny some of the propositions which are 
13 



290 EEVIEW OF EDWARDS ON THE WILL. 

essential to its conclusions, it has little application to 
mj positions. 

I see no objection to Edwards's use of the term in- 
difference, as the antithesis of choice or preference, but 
I hold that every act of will is imtnediatelj preceded 
by a perception, by the knowledge that such act will, 
or may produce the effect wanted ; and this perception 
or knowledge may be a preference or choice, as among 
various modes of action, or as between action and non- 
action ; that, except in those cases of hasty action in 
which at once perceiving that a certain action will pro- 
duce a certain desirable result, we adopt it without 
stopping to compare it with other possible modes of 
action, or with non-action, this perception is a choice 
or preference, and hence, for the purposes of this argu- 
ment, Edwards's assumption that a free act of will is 
an act of will which is preceded by the mind's choice 
or preference, and is in conformity to such choice, may 
also be admitted. But, then, such a perception, choice 
or preference, is not an act of will, but knowledge ; and 
this knowledge or choice, is not a distinct power or 
entity, which itself determines the act of will, but is 
merely that acquisition by which the mind determines 
its act, in adapting it to the desired end ; and the free- 
dom of the mind in such case consists as before ai-gued, 
in its determining its own acts by means of its own 
knowledge. This addition to our knowledge is always 
an immediate perception, but may have required pre- 
liminary acts of will to make it obvious to the mind's 
knowing sense. It may be the result of an effort, in or 
by which the mind compares various things or modes, 
till it judges or decides among them, that is, perceives 
or knows which is best ; but the effort and the decision 



RELATION OF INDIFFEKENCE TO FliEEDOM. 291 

or judgment which is its result, are two distinct and 
verj different things ; the effort is an act of will and, 
in this case, the result is a choice. 

The form in which an admission that choice is a 
necessary antecedent oi free will, could be most plausi- 
bly used against the freedom of the mind in willing, 
seems to me to be this : Even supposing the mind's 
choice to be something distinct from its act of mm'II, still 
the choice in that case, is the result of a comparison, 
which was itself an act of will, and, if a free act, must 
also have been preceded by a choice, which, in turn, 
must be the result of a previous act of will, and so on 
ad infinitum, leaving no possibility of a first free act. 
It will be observed that this argument is the same as 
that of Edwards, except that, instead of making choice 
itself an act of will, it makes it the result of an act of 
will and avails only on the assumption that every choice 
requires an antecedent act of will. This assumption I 
deem unfounded. When I, at the same time, see an ox 
and a mouse, I know at once without any effbrt or act 
of will, that the ox is larger than the mouse. It is a 
fact obvious to simple perception requiring no prelimi- 
nary eff'ort to arrange either objects or ideas to make 
it apparent. In the same way I may at once perceive 
that one thing is better than others ; and when I thus 
perceive that one thing is hetter adapted to my want 
than others, and that it is better to have, than not to have 
it, it is a choice of that thing, which is t aus recognized 
by the mind's sense of knowing, without any prelimi- 
nary effbrt ; and such choice, even under our admis- 
sion, may be the basis of free action. 

But it does not appear ertain that choice, either as 
the result of an act of the will in comparing, or even as 



292 EEVII'IW OF EDWAKDS ON THE WILL, 

a simple perception of the mind, is a necessary ante- 
cedent to a free act of will. The mind may perceive 
some good result of an effort, and make that effort with- 
out comparing it with other efforts, as we may decide 
to take an apple immediately before us, without coni- 
panng it with others in the same basket. In walking, 
for instance, a man, liaving by previous action decided, 
knows that he wants to move in a certain direction, and 
that the mode of doing it is at each point of his prog- 
ress to take another step in the same direction. The 
facility with which a man in walking thinks of other 
subjects, and the little interruption of his thoughts, 
seem to indicate that he does not, at each act of will, 
or effort to take a step, without which the step would 
not be taken, compare the act of stepping in a certain 
direction with tliat of stepping in other directions, or 
with the swinging of the arms, or any other conceivable 
act, or even with not acting at all ; but, as before sug- 
gested, acts imniediately upon the perception, the 
knowledge, that such act tends to a desirable result. 
The essential element or fundamental condition of free 
action is not that it is chosen, but that it is self-direct- 
ed ; and it would be proper to bear this in mind even 
if it should on investigation appear that choice of the 
action is still an essential element of this self-direction, 
because choice has a more general application, signily- 
ing selection among other things, as well as acts of will ; 
and hence, even if choice is always the immediate ante- 
cedent of free action, a free action is not always the 
immediate consequence of choice ; and this even though 
the mind in choosing always has a view to future ac- 
tion, either proximate or remote. 

The latter portion of his seventh section (Part II.) 



INDIFFEEENCE TO FREEDOM IJST WILLING. 293 

Edwards devotes to those who " should suppose that 
these difficulties may be avoided by saying that the 
liberty of the mind consists in a power to suspend the 
act of the will, and so to keep it in a state of indiffer- 
ence until there has been opportunity for consideration ; 
and so shall say * * * that liberty consists in a power 
of the mind to forbear or suspend the act of volition 
and keep the mind in a state of indifference for the 
present, until there has been opportunity for proper de- 
liberation," (P. 92.) Edwards ass nnes that those who 
say this, mean to assert that this power to suspend its 
volition is the only liberty of the miud in willing ; and 
argues as if they had said, the liberty of the mind con- 
sists in its actually susjMndlng the act of the will. He 
further assumes that " this suspending volition, if there 
l)e properly any such thing ^ is itself an act of volition," 
and, on these assumptions, his argument runs thus : the 
only free volition is the volition to suspend an act of 
will, and the freedom of this volition, in turn, consists 
in a volition to suspend it, and so on ad infinitum, ad- 
mitting of no first free act of will. This reasoning, 
availing only against those who assert that the 07dy 
liberty of the mind in willing consists in its suspending 
its act of will, and then being also founded on assump- 
tions which do not enter into nay system, and which I 
deem erroneous, does not really affect the argument 
I have presented in favor of freedom. Edwards in the 
above quotation seems to question " if there be prop- 
erly any such thing" as " suspending volition," and, if 
there is, asserts that the suspending " is itself an act of 
volition." The question, can the mind suspend voli- 
tion, really involves that of its ability to determine as to 
whether to act, or not to act. For, if the mind cannot 



294: KEVIEW OF EDWARDS ON THE WILL. 

even suspend a volition, it must, of course and of neces- 
sity, make or have the volition and have it immediately. 
On the other hand, if it has power to suspend volition, it 
must be for an indefinite time, otherwise there is a time 
when it has not power to suspend, and power to sus- 
pend for an indefinite time is power not to put forth 
nor have the volition at all. On the first hypothesis, 
when there was only one cause, and that cause then able 
to produce all the eft'ects it has since produced, as, if 
omnipotent, it must have been — and if suspending 
volition involves such contradictions as Edwards sup- 
poses, even omnipotence could not suspend its voli- 
tion, but must immediately have actually created and 
done everything possible. And, if a part of this doing 
was the creating of other causes acting by will, they, 
too, at the same instant, must have exhausted all their 
causative powder, making all cause end the instant it 
came into existence, or the moment the first cause of 
all acted. As the influence of matter, if made cause by 
being in motion, may be retained, or continued in time, 
from the circumstance that to move from one point of 
space to another requires time, so the influence of spirit, 
as cause in virtue of its intelligence, is continued in 
time from the circumstance that, by its intelligence, it 
may think, examine, compare, and judge, or decide as 
to the proper time of ending the preliminary examina- 
tion, and proceed to the flnal action.* The assertion 
that " suspending volition is itself an act of volition," I 
deem unfounded ; but Edwards thus attempts to prove 
it : " If the mind determines to suspend its act, it de- 
termines it voluntarily ; it chooses, on some considera- 
tion, to suspend it. And this choice or determination 
♦ See Appendix, Note XLlI. 



INDIFFERENCE TO FREEDOM IN WILLING. 295 

is an act of the will ; and indeed it is supposed to be so 
in the very hypothesis ; for it is supposed that the lib- 
erty of the will consists in its power to do this, and that 
its doing it is the very thing wherein the loill exercises 
its liberty. But how can the will exercise liberty in it, 
if it be not an act of the will ? The liberty of the will 
is not exercised in anything but what the will does." 
(Pp. 92, 93.) There is a covert sophistry in this, 
growing out of using the term will as synonymous 
with mind. The latter portion shouldread thus : " for 
it is supposed that the liberty of the mind consists in 
its power to do this, and that its doing it is the very 
thing wherein the mind exercises its liberty. But how 
can the mind exercise liberty in willing, if it be not in 
an act of will ? The liberty of the mind is not exercised 
in anything but what the mind does;" which would 
prove nothing against the mind's freedom in willing. 
In regard to this last-quoted assertion, as thus altered, 
we may observe that Edwards's own remarks in declining 
will, lead to the conclusion that the mind's liberty may 
be as much exercised in that which it refuses, as in that 
which it chooses, and, of course, as nmch in that which 
it refuses to do, as in that which it chooses to do ; in 
what it does not will as well as in what it does will. 

It will be observed that Edwards's proof of the as- 
sertion that suspending volition is itself an act of voli- 
tion rests directly and wholly on the assumption that 
the mind's choice is the same as its act of will ; and if I 
have succeeded in showing that this is an error, then, 
not only the above-mentioned assertion, but this whole 
argument of Edwards against the freedom of the mind 
m suspending volition, is shown to be fallacious. I 
would, however, further remark upon it that, if to sus- 



296 REVIEW OF EDWARDS ON THE WILL. 

pend the mind's act of will requires an act of wiU of 
any kind, free or unfree, tlien once the mind is in ac- 
tion it never can suspend action, or cease to act ; for 
every act must continue till there is another act to sus- 
pend it. But even if, against all experience, this be ad- 
mitted, it still would not prove that the mind is not 
free in its every act of will ; for it is conceivable that 
the mind may be under a continual necessity to act, and 
yet that itself as continually directs its every act, and is 
consequently free in such act. For aught that appears 
in the argument, if it could will at all, it might still 
freely will to suspend willing, though its eftbrts be 
found to be unavailing. If, for want of a known mode, 
or any other reason, we could not thus v.'ill at all, then, 
as it is manifest that we might still, as the result of a 
comparison of willing with not willing, prefer or choose 
non- willing, the choosing^ which is possible, cannot be 
the same thing as the willing, which on this hypothesis 
is impossible; and the main foundation of the argu- 
ment is thus destroyed by another essential support of 
it. The assumption of Edwai-ds, as above stated, would 
however admit of oidy the one act suspended, and a 
series of acts each merely suspending the preceding one ; 
and each of those acts, as his argument virtually as- 
serts, must be without the preliminary act to consider, 
or get any new knowledge ; for this would not be an act 
to suspend the prior act. The uiind's sphere of action 
would thus be curtailed to very narrow limits. That 
when we perceive that a contemplated effort may be 
better made at some future time, we may, in con- 
formity to this perception, delay action till then, is a 
matter of fact, which I presiime will be admitted, and 
hence, in this sense, a contemplated act of will may be 



INDIFFEEENCE TO FREEDOM IN WILLING. 297 

suspended. In such case, we may have compared the 
advantage of present with future action, and come to a 
conclusion, a decision in favor of the latter, i. e., that at 
a certain time, or when another expected event occurs, 
we will make a certain eflPort ; but such decision is not 
itself the future effort, l)ut only present knowledge re- 
garding that efibrt. But we may thus suspend for an 
indefinite time, or for all time, and thus wholly aban- 
don and contemplated volition, or any portion of an 
act or series of acts. To will to suspend an act of will 
is then the same as willing not to will, either for the 
time being, or at all. Indifference being that condi- 
tion of the mind in which it is not willing, to say that 
the mind wills to keep itself in this condition is to say 
that the mind wills not to will, which, if asserted gen- 
erally, involves the absurdity of supposing that, for the 
mind to cease willing, or not to will, it must still will ; 
that after having once willed, non-willing is still only 
another willing. The assertion that the mind cannot 
suspend its willing by an act of will, if made in general 
terms and as applicable to all willing, must be as true 
as that thought is not suspended by thinking, or motion 
by moving. This all amounts to saying that we cannot 
do a thing by not doing it, or by doing the contrary to 
it. But, even if it be admitted that, in this general 
sense, the mind can only suspend its willing by willing 
to suspend, it would be a sufficient answer to this position 
to say that the mind never wills thus generally • never 
wills will, but always, when willing, wills some partic- 
ular act ; and that, though it cannot stop action by act- 
ing, it can still, even while acting, suspend one partic- 
ular act by directing its power to another particular 
act, as, even though we could not stop moving, we 
13* 



298 EEVIEW OF EDWARDS ON THE WILL. 

might still suspend motion in one direction by moving 
in another. The liberty of tlie mind in directing all ita 
actions might thus still be maintained under the hy- 
pothesis, that to suspend action generally^ required an 
act to suspend, though the exercise of liberty as to 
acting, or not acting, might then be denied. But the 
particular jurisdiction of the mind, which is questioned 
by this denial of its power to suspend willing, is not 
derived from any negative attribute of its power not to 
loill, but from its positive ability to will, which is its 
own effort, or the exercise of its own power ; and with- 
out such exercise there is no act of will. The mind has 
then only to refrain from any positive effort, which it 
will do whenever it sees reason for it, and the condition 
of non-action, or general suspension of its willing, is 
reached. To suppose the mind to will when itself does 
not will — and this non-willing is its condition when- 
ever it does not perceive any object, or reason for will- 
ing — involves the hypothesis that it is compelled by 
some extraneous power to will ; and tliis, again, as be- 
fore shown, involves the contradiction of supposing it 
to will, when it is not willing, when it is not exercising 
its power, or making any effort whatever. If the mind, 
by extrinsic power, can be moved to will, when itself 
perceives no reason for such willing, it is not, in such 
case, either an intelligent or willing agent any more 
than an axe or other instrument, which is moved by 
extrinsic effort directed by extiinsic intelligence. 

From these general considerations, turning to par- 
ticular or individual acts of will, in which alone they 
can fiud practical application, we woidd remark that, 
by the phrase " suspending an act of will " cannot be 
meant suspending an ac't, or that portion of an act, or 



INDIFFERENCE TO FREEEOM IN "WILLING. 2d9 

of a series of acts already accoiiiplislied ; nor can it 
apply to an act of which the mind has yet had no idea, 
but mnst have reference only to such acts as the mind 
has already contemplated and intended, determined, or 
chosen to do. But here, under Edwards's definitions, it 
may be said that what has been chosen has already 
been willed, and hence the willing it could not be sus- 
pended. The fallacy of this position, resting on the 
assumed identity of choice and will, has already been 
exposed. But further to illustrate : suppose a man is 
reading aloud, and has already pronounced the first syl- 
lable of the word " gallows," when a man suddenly 
enters whose father was hanged. The reader may then 
perceive a reason for suspending the act of pronouncing 
the last syllable, and do so. His knowledge is altered, 
and he conforms to it by suspending or abandoning the 
act he intended. The same thing occurs w^ienever by 
any change ol knowledge he pej'ceives, not, as in the 
case just mentioned, that the contemplated act will be 
injurious, but merely that it will not be in any wise 
beneficial ; there is then no perceived or known reason 
for action, and without such knowledge, an intelligent 
being does not exert its power to produce change. 
Again, suppose that, when the reader had pronounced 
the first syllable, a man enters, whose presence suggests 
no direct reason for not finishing the word, but with 
whom he has urgent business ; he may, for this reason, 
suspend the contemplated act to finish the word, that 
by another act he may attend to something more press- 
ing. In this case one act is suspended to make room 
for another act. The mind suspends its intended act, 
in the first instance above stated, because it perceives 
a reason against such action. In the second instance, 



300 REVIEW OF EDWARDS ON THE WILL. 

because it j^erceives that there is no good reason for the 
act ; and in the third instance, because it perceives there 
is a reason for preferring another act. Whether, in this 
last case, the suspension of the one act is the conse- 
quence of the other act, or only a necessary preliminary 
to it, may be a question ; if the former, then the mind 
suspends the first act hy, or as a consequence of its 
second ; and if the latter, it first suspends one act, 
ceasing to act in it, that it may afterward do another. 
The question is not here material, as the first contem- 
plated act of will is in either event suspended. If this 
suspension is a consequence of the mind's effort to do 
something else, the doing something else is a mode in 
which the mind, by its own action, suspends a contem- 
plated volition ; and if there is a preliminary act sus- 
pending this contemplated volition, then the mind thus 
suspends because, in the more urgent demand for an- 
other act, it perceives a reason for such preliminary act 
to suspend ; and then, in the instances above stated, 
the third becomes the same as the first, in which the 
mind suspends an act because it perceives a reason for 
such suspension. All these reasons may be simple per- 
ceptions of the mind, without any effort to reach them ; 
and when the mind perceives a reason for iiot acting, it 
can, in the aggregate of its knowledge, perceive no rea- 
son for acting ; and when it does not perceive a reason 
to act it does not act ; and not to perceive a reason re- 
quires no act, so that this suspension may take place 
without an act to suspend. 

As already shown, to will to suspend an act of will 
IS equivalent to willing not to will. We have also 
stated that a man never wills to will generally. If the 
will is a faculty for which the mind wants exercise, it 



INDIFFERENCE TO FREEDOM IN WILLING. 30 1 

may seek to gratify that want, but, in doing so, must 
will, not generally, but some particular act. This posi- 
tion is easily brought to the test of experiment. There 
is obviously no way in which the mind can will gen- 
erally. Will is the mode in which the mind manifests 
its power ; and to will generally would be to exert 
power for no object and with no preponderance in one 
direction rather than another, which would be to exert 
it equally in all directions ; and power exerted equally 
in all directions must neutralize itself, and there would 
then be no manifestation of power whatever in any 
direction. So far from the mind's being able to will 
thus generally, it cannot even will distinct genera of 
acts. If we want and even decide upon or choose 
bodily movement generally, we must know what por- 
tion of the body to move and in what direction, before 
w^e can will the movement. To will movement in no 
direction, or equally in all directions, would be to will 
no movement. If we want to reason, we must know 
something to reason about, and, at each step of the rea- 
soning, must get a perception, find — not make — the 
logical sequence. Nor do we ever will to will a partic- 
ular act, but directly will the act. To say a man wills 
an act of will^ or thinks thoughts, or knows knowledge, 
expresses no more than to say he wills^ he thinhs, he 
hnows. To will to will is to make effort to make eftbrt, 
i. e.^ to do the thing to be done in order to the doing it. 
The nearest approach we can make to willing to will, is 
when we want exercise for the faculty of will, i. e., to 
exert our power without reference to any benefit to be 
derived from the effort ; as we may want exercise foi 
the body without any reference to any ulterior result. 
If we want such exercise for the will, and especially if 



302 KEVIEW OF EDWAKDS ON THE WILL. 

we want that peculiar exercise of selecting objects or 
acts arbitrarily, without a preliminary act to compare, 
or judge of consequences, we will, in gratifying such 
want, display the characteristics of caprice. We, how- 
ever, still directly will particular acts, and do not 
merely will to will. The mind, then, in no case, either 
general or particular, wills to will ; and for stronger 
reasons it does not will to not will. To will not to 
will, in a general sense, would be doing a thing in 
order not to do it ; and, in regard to a particular act, 
the mind may decide not to do it, and not doing re- 
quires no effort. The mind's act of will is based di- 
rectly upon its perceptions of a reason for such act ; 
and its non-action results from its not perceiving any 
reason to act, or from its perceiving a reason to suspend 
any contemplated act. In all these cases, it is tiie 
intelligent being that governs ; in all, the mind, by 
means of its knowledge, determines how to act, or 
wliether to act or not. 

To suppose that to suspend an act of will, or to 
stop willing, requires an act of will, or, in other words, 
that to stop making effort requires an effort, is to sup- 
pose some power acting on the mind to cause it to will. 
But the only other things necessarily involved in its 
volition are its want and its knowledge : neither of 
these, as distinct entities, can, singly or combined, will, 
or direct the act of will ; this must be done by the mind, 
the active being, that wants and knows. But even sup- 
posing a power to inhere in this want and knowledge 
to produce an act of will, the moment the want ceases, 
or the moment the knowledge changes and the mind 
perceives that the contemplated act will not tend to 
gratify its want, such power ceases ; and, in that case. 



INDIFFERKNCE TO FKEEDOM IN WILLING. 303 

the contemplated act of will would be suspended, not 
by an act of will, but simply by non-action. If the 
knowledge is so changed that the mind, instead of 
merely perceiving that a contemplated act will not 
effect its object, or is not preferable to non-action, or 
perceives that another act is preferable, then still, as re- 
gards the first contemplated act, there is only non- 
action, and not an act to suspend it before the other 
act becomes possible, 

I would here further observe, that a want demand- 
ing effort may be more than neutralized by the simple 
perception that repose is more wanted, and no effort be 
made, the mind still conforming its conduct to its 
knowledge. We always will, put forth our powei*, 
make effort for some object, and this object always is 
to make the future different from what it otherwise 
would be. If we already are not willing^ we do not 
will not to will, for we seek no change in that respect. 
Even if, in such case, we could conceive that there 
might still be a want not to will, what we want already 
is, and no effort is required to gratify the want. If we 
are willing^ we cease the willing, we cease to make 
effort, as soon as the end is accomplished, or as soon as 
we j)erceive any other sufficient reason for ceasing ; and 
without a special effort to cease making effort, without 
a special act of will to stop willing. So far from our 
willing not to will, it is, at least, very doubtful whether 
we ever will, or ever can will not to do, or not to try to 
do. We will to do something, and not to do nothing. 
If the case of willing not to do differs from that of will- 
ing not to will, or is anything more than a particular 
case of it, still, either generally, or in each particular 
case of doing, it may be said that, if we already are not 



304 RKVIKW OF EDWAKDS ON THE WILL. 

doing, we do not will non-doing, for we seek no change 
in that respect, and the argument we have just stated 
in regard to willing not to will, applies to willing not 
to do, both generally and in any particular case. When 
the question is between doing one thing or another 
thing, we seek knowledge, and our conclusion is a 
choice, a decision as between them ; and when it is 
between doing and not doing anything, we also choose, 
decide, as between doing and not doing ; but in neither 
case is the decision, the conclusion, or choice itself, the 
act of will, or the trying to do, but only the knowledge, 
found by a preliminary act for that purpose. In the 
lirst case we have found — come to know what to try to 
do ; and in the second, we have come to know whether 
to try to do, or to refrain from trying to do ; and if the 
decision is in favor of the latter, that knowledge ends 
the matter. In this the mind conforms to its knowledge, 
its decision, by refraining from further action. In all 
these cases, the decision of the mind may be the result 
of previous effort to obtain knowledge; but if the ques- 
tion arises as between action and non-action generally, 
or even as between a particular act and such non-action ; 
i. e., whether, when a case arises in which we perceive 
action may in some respects be advantageous, we will 
give any attention, any thought whatever to it ; the 
decision of such question must be an immediate percep- 
tion of the mind ; for any preliminary effort to obtain 
more knowledge, including any effort to recall and 
apply what we know, or to arrange it so as to aid our 
perception, is another action, manifesting that the mind 
has already decided, in view of the premises, to act. 
The whole phenomena in such case is perhaps expressed 
by saying, the mind immediately perceives, knows, 



INDIFFERENCE TO FREEDOM IN WILLING. 305 

without effort, Avliether action or repose suits it best ; 
and its freedon), in this, as in other cases, lies in its abil- 
ity to conform itself to this knowledge, without extrinsic 
constraint or restraint. Hence, even if it could be 
shown that this question, as betM^een action and non- 
action, arises with eveiy want or occasion for action, it 
would not argue necessity, for the mind still decides 
the question with such view, such knowledge, as it 
already has ; and, in so doing, determines upon its own 
action, or non-action ; and the arising of *iuch question 
only furnishes an occasion for the exercise of its liberty, 
in exerting, or not exerting its powers, as the question 
between various acts furnishes the occasion for the ex- 
ercise of its liberty in directing its efforts ; though the 
latter case admits of preliminary effort to discover the 
mode or direction, while the former does not ; non-ac- 
tion has no mode or direction. 

I have before suggested that the choice by the mind 
may be its immediate perception that one thing is bet- 
ter than another. If, however, the decision of the ques- 
tion between action and repose, involves a conjparison, 
requiring preliminary effort, then the non-action of the 
mind, or its refraining from action in such cases, must 
always arise from an immediate perception of some 
positive and not comparative advantages, or disadvan- 
tages of repose, or of action. In themselves, repose or 
action may be either pleasurable or painful. It ap- 
pears, then, that though the mind can both will and 
suspend its act of will, or not will, it requires no dis- 
tinct act of will, either to will, or not to will ; that, in 
willing, it directly wills the particular act, and does not 
first will to will it ; and that, in not willing, it as di- 



300 RKVIEW OF EDWARDS ON THE WILL. 

rectlj refrains tVoiii the particular action, and does not 
will not to will it : it merely does not act at all. 

If our action is to be reenforced, strengthened, or 
made persistent, it is not by williug to will, but by 
means of knowledge, which may be iuculcated by 
others, or found by our own efforts and dwelt upon till 
our perceptions of the benefit or pleasure expected 
from the act become so vivid, that a want, not in it- 
self urgent, glows in desire, or is inflamed to passion ; 
and the mind then wills without reference to any collat- 
eral or remote consequences, and without comparing 
the advantages, which so absorb it, with those which 
might be derived from other action, or from non-action. 
Those cases of action in which the mind is absorbed by 
one view, or one object, though the absorption is the 
result of its previous action, or attention, or thought 
devoted to the subject, become, in some respects, similar 
to those in which the mind acts on an immediate per- 
ception, without seeking more knowledge to direct its 
action. In them it has sought more knowledge, but 
only in one direction, and still acts upon a single idea. 
It is in such cases that the aid of others, in presenting 
their views and imparting their knowledge, may most 
obviously be useful ; and especially in those cases in 
which the absorbing object, or the immediate percep- 
tion, upon which the mind is about to act, is the grati- 
fication of some want which ought not to be gratified. 
When this is in conflict with our own knowledge of 
what is morally right, it becomes so important, that 
God never permits such action without a monition 
through the moral sense, warning us to refrain froin 
the mutilation, or degradation of our beiug, and sug- 
gesting search of that knowledge, which, by a faith in 



RELATION OF INDIFFERENCE TO FREEDOM. 307 

the wisdom and goodness of the Snpreme Intelligence, 
intuitive, or early acquired, we know will reconcile 
gratification and duty. 

There are some cases in wliicli the mind really de- 
cides its action upon an immediate perception of the 
gratification to be derived from such action, and still, 
to avoid the painful sensation of self-reproach in do- 
ing what it knows to be wrong, seeks by preliminary 
act to find reason to reconcile the act with its sense of 
duty ; and, for this purpose, by its power to direct its 
efforts, seeks the arguments which favor, and excludes 
attention to those which oppose the act ; or it may do 
the same thing to find a reason to convince others, 
and thus avoid or mitigate their censure. Such dis- 
honest mind, in the first case, makes the vain effort to 
deceive itself. In the latter case, it seeks to deceive 
others ; and in this may possibly succeed. 

The reasoning of Edwards, which we have just been 
considering in this chapter, has little bearing upon my 
position, except that his denial of the liberty of the 
mind to suspend a volition, denies the mind's liberty 
in this one particular. This denial is associated with 
indifference only by the assertion of his opponents that 
the object of the suspension is to keep the mind " in a 
state of indifference until there has been opportunity for 
consideration." This, on the grounds I have stated, is 
merely to say, until there has been time to obtain more 
knowledge ; and, if that knowledge is sought by effort, 
it is only one case of the mind's suspending one act of 
will to make room for another. It was not, then, im- 
portant to my own position to have thus followed the 
whole of this argument " concerning the notion of the 
liberty of will consisting in indifference ; " but the ex- 



308 REVIEW OF EDWARDS ON THE WILL. 

am illation may serve to illustrate my own views, and 
at the same time to show how thoroughly the reasoning 
of Edwards is based on his two irreconcilable deiinitions, 
the one making choice tlie act of will, and the other 
making it the result of a comparative act, which is only 
knowledge sought and obtained by that act. As before 
observed, he also confounds the choice with the act of 
comparing of which it is the result ; and thus produces 
additional confusion and error. I may further remark 
that, in conformity to his assumption that to choose and 
to will are the same, he inverts his definition, and in- 
stead of making the " will that by which the mind 
chooses," makes the choice that hy which the mind loills. 

No real progress could logically be made by this 
use of identical terms, and it is only by using one of 
them in a different sense, or as both identical and not 
identical with the other, that any conclusion, beyond 
what is, is, can be reached, and then with all the lia- 
bility to error involved in the double and incompatible 
definitions. 

There is, however, in this word indifference, as used 
by Edwards to denote that state in which we are not 
willing and have no choice, an important significance, 
indicating the point of the mind's departure from the 
passive to the active condition. In profound sleep it is 
tlms indifferent, and being then unconscious of any 
want, or any reason for willing, it does not will ; and 
any change which takes place in itself, or in other 
things, must then be produced by other agencies. Its 
waking, or being roused from this unconscious state, 
must be brought about by agencies external to itself. 
It must, however, be still susceptible, at least to some 
sensations, for it cannot change itself; and if it could 



RELATION OF INDIFFERENCE TO FRKEDOM. 309 

not know any changes produ(3ed by extraneous agen- 
cies, it never could be awakened. The sensation could 
produce no effect upon the mind until the mind recog- 
nized it. If this passive sta.te is not itself profound 
sleep ; if, when awake, the mind is even entirely inac- 
tive, its condition can then vary from that of profound 
sleep only in its greater susceptibility to the effects of 
extrinsic activities. Without action it cannot change 
either its own passive condition or anything else. It 
may, however, in its passive condition, be acted upon, 
and the first step in this change from the passive to the 
active condition is a joerception of some change ; and in 
its feelings or perceptions growing out of such change, 
it may find reason for acting itself. If this change is 
from a satisfied condition to that of a want, for instance, 
to that of hunger, or thirst, arising withont onr volition, 
we act in reference to its relief. When we ai-e fatigued 
and need sleep, we require greater inducements to act, 
and in proportion to our exhaustion ; for this exhaus- 
tion is a reason or want not to act, and must be over- 
balanced by a counter reason or want ; but so long as 
we are conscious, so long as we Tcnow^ we can, for j^er- 
ceived reason, resist the change to sleep, or seek to pro- 
duce some other change, though, from causes beyond 
our control, we may not have the power ; from exhaus- 
tion, the instruments of the mind may have become too 
weak, as a decayed lever will not, by the application 
of the same power, raise the weight for which it once 
would have sufliced. Bnt, with every change about 
us, we either intuitively or habitually know that some 
action on our part may be required to avail of benefi- 
cial, or to protect ourselves from evil consequences ; 
and we usually give enough effort by thought, to every 



310 REVIEW OF EDWARDS ON THE WILL. 

such change, to enable ns to form a judgment, some- 
times a too hastj one, as to tlie necessity or expediency 
of further effort, by thought or otherwise. 

The effort of the mind, by thought or observation, 
to find what is transpiring and what further efforts 
the changes around it may require, is called attention ; 
and this generally marks the first change from the 
passive to the active mental condition. It does not, 
however, always require an effort of any kind to know 
the changes which are taking place. It requires no 
effort to know the sensation, which itself is a change 
indicating some other change. We know we are hun- 
gry, and we hear the discharge of a gun, without effort ; 
and with the sensation, the knowledge, not only as to 
whether the change indicated by it demands effort, or 
not ; but, if it does, the knowledge of the particular 
effort demanded may be an immediate perception, with- 
out any preliminary effort ; and, if this ever happens, 
the mind's activity then commences with the effort, the 
reason for which is thus perceived without a prelimi- 
nary effort of attention iu examining the changed or 
changing events. The circumstances most favorable 
to this immediate perception of the requirement or non- 
requirement of effort, are when the change is one of 
frequent occurrence, so that the application of our 
knowledge has become habitual, and especially when 
the change is one in which we perceive and have usual- 
ly before perceived no reason for effort. In such cases 
it may be difficult to determine whether the decision is 
an immediate perception, or the result of an effort ; but 
the probability seems to be that, with observed change, 
the mind generally puts forth an effort of attention 
to hnd if any action, or change of action, is thereby 



RELATION OF INDIFFERENCE TO FKEEDOM. 311 

required, and if not, that it again relapses into a state 
of repose, or resumes its previous course of action. It 
thus suspends one action, till, by another, it ascertains 
whether the changed circumstances require the first to 
he longer delayed, or wholly abandoned. In cases like 
those just alluded to, the time and effort required for 
this are hardly appreciable, and if we are, at the mo- 
ment, conscious of an effort, it is presently obliterated 
from the memory. The striking of a clock, which, 
a moment afterward, we are unconscious of having 
heard, is a familiar illustration. The striking has be- 
fore frequently occurred, and, with exceptional cases, 
as when marking that the time for some action has 
arrived, we have in it found no reason for effort. But 
the mind must have recognized the sensation at the 
moment, for it would have heard the faintest whisper ; 
nothing external to the mind causes it to hear the one 
and not the other, and itself could not make this dis- 
tinction without first knowing what it was distinguish- 
ing between. The sensation produced by the striking 
has furnished no ground for action, has given us neither 
pleasure nor pain ; we have not even drawn any infer- 
ence from it as to the time, present or past ; and the 
whole phenomenon is thus reduced almost to nothing- 
ness, leaving very little that could be remembered, and 
this so isolated, so free from association with other 
knowledge, that it is immediately left out and lost. 
The striking of a clock, leaving a sensation which 
merely marks the passage of time, is in some respects 
peculiar. Our mere progress through time has little 
more effect upon us than our movement with the earth 
through space, which, even when recognized, does not 
usually induce any effort, though, as in the exceptional 



312 REVIEW OF EDWARDS ON THE WILL. 

cases in regard to the striking of the clock, the infer- 
ences from it, as that short days and cold weather are 
approaching, may be a reason for some effort, or change 
of effort. The constant murmur of the forest, or the 
roar of ocean, thougli indicating no such change as 
calls for action, and seemingly unheeded by those ac- 
customed to it, is yet recognized by the mind ; for if 
it suddenly ceases we know it, and we could not know 
of the cessation of the sound, without first knowing the 
sound that ceased. In such cases, the sensation not 
only does not indicate any change requiring action^ but 
the continuous monotony of sound is an assurance to 
the mind that, so far, no such change is taking place. 
This partially relieves the mind from its wonted watch- 
fulness in regard to the external, and favors its becom- 
ing absorbed in reverie, or concentrated upon abstract 
speculation. 



CHAPTER VIII. 



CONTINGENCE. 



In the eighth and ninth sections of Part II., Ed- 
wards, treating of " the supposed liberty of the will as 
opposite to all necessity," and " the connection of the 
acts of the will with the dictates of the understanding," 
says : " I would inquire wliether there is, or can be 
any such thing as a volition whicli is contingent in such 
a sense, as not only to come to pass without any neces- 
sity of constraint, or coaction, but also without a neces- 
sity of consequence, or an infallible connection with 
anything foregoing " (p. 96) ; and soon after, referring 
to this, says : " And here it must be remembered that 
it has been already shown, that nothing can ever come 
to pass without a cause, or reason why it exists in this 
manner rather than another ; and the evidence of this 
has been particularly applied to the acts of the will. 
Now, if this be so, it will demonstrably follow that the 
acts of the will are never contingent, or without neces- 
sity, in the sense spaken of; inasmuch as those things 
which have a cause, or reason of their existence, must 
be connected with their cause. This appears by the 
following consideration : for an event to have a cause 
14 



314 REVIEW OF EDWARDS ON THE WILL. 

and ground of its existence, and yet not be connected 
with its cause, is an inconsistence " (p. 96). He then 
proceeds to prove this last proposition. Admitting it, 
still, as already intimated in my remarks on " No Event 
without a Cause " (Part II., Sec. 3), if mind itself is 
the cause of the event, it only proves in reference to 
such events, " the acts of the will," that they are con- 
nected with the mind, but does not at all tend to show 
whether that mind, the active power, which produces 
them and is their cause, acts freely, or otherwise. It 
is a mere abstract proposition involved in the notions, 
or definitions of cause and effect, and just as true of one 
kind of cause as of another ; and hence, indicating no 
distinguishing quality or property of that cause ; of 
course this cannot indicate whether that cause is free 
or not free. That mind may be such a cause, and espe- 
cially under the great latitude with which Edwards 
says he uses the term cause, I trust I have already suffi- 
ciently shown. 

At the commencement of section ninth, he thus re- 
iterates the conclusion at which he ari-ives in section 
eighth, and applies it to his argument : " It is manifest 
that the acts of the will are none of them contingent in 
such a sense as to be without all necessity, or so as not 
to be necessary with a necessity of consequence and 
connection ; because every act of the will is some way 
connected with the understanding, and is as the great- 
est apparent good is, in the manner which has already 
been explained ; namely, that the soul always wills, or 
chooses that which, in the present view of the mind, 
considered in the whole of that view and all that be- 
longs to it, appears most agreeable. Because, as was 
observed before, nothing is more evident than that, 



CONTINGENCE, 315 

when men act voluntarilj, and do what tliey please, 
then they do what appears most agreeable to them ; 
and to say otherwise would be as much as to affirm 
that men do not choose what appears to suit them best, 
or what seems most pleasing to them ; or that they do 
not choose what they prefer, which brings the matter 
to a contradiction " (p. 100). 

So far as regards the volition, this contradiction 
appears only when will and choice are deemed iden- 
tical. I do not mean to assert or to deny that " acts 
of the will are none of them contingent," in some of 
the various senses in which that term seems to be used. 
If the above argument only implies that acts of the 
will, taking will to be a distinct entity, capable itself 
of action, are necessary because they " in some way are 
connected with the understanding, and are as the great- 
est apparent good is," I shall only object that, there is 
no such will and no such acts of will to be subject to 
such necessity ; or, if the argument implies that the 
will, considered as a mere faculty of the mind and itself 
incapable of action, is not free because it is controlled 
by the mind, then it does not even tend to prove any 
necessity of mind in willing ; but is one step toward 
the proof of its freedom. But if, by the acts of the will, 
Edwards means, as he repeatedly claims to do, " the 
acts of the mind or soul in willing," then the argument 
is self-contradictory and absurd ; for, as before observed, 
the understanding, in his system generally, and espe- 
cially in its present application, embraces all the powers 
and faculties of the mind, except that of the will ; and 
hence, to say that the Tnind, in the act of willing, does 
not will freely, or acts from necessity, because the act 
of will is, in some way, connected with the understand- 



316 KEVIEW OF EDWARDS ON THE WILL. 

ing, is to say that the mind, in the act of willing, does 
not act freely because the act of willing is, in some 
way, connected with the mind, which is absurd. And 
to say that, in the act of willing, the mind does not act 
freely, because every act of its will is in conformity to 
its views of the greatest apparent good, or because it 
" always wills, or chooses that which in the present 
view of the mind " " appears most agreeable ; " and 
that this is so, because when men act voluntarily and 
do what they please, then they do what appears most 
agreeable to them, is contradictory. It is, in effect, 
saying that the mind does not act freely in willing, be- 
cause, in willing, it cannot do otherwise than direct its 
own action, which is to act freely ; and hence, is subject 
to this necessity^ or is constrained to be free in its action. 
It is like saying, freedom is not free, hecause it cannot 
l)e otherwise than free / and hence, is subject to the 
necessity, or is constrained to be free ; and this is as- 
serting that, what is, is not ^ and that it is not for the 
very reason that it is ; than which, I apprehend, it 
would be dilBcult to involve more absurdity and con- 
tradiction in the same space. All those arguments 
which attempt to prove necessity from the dependence 
of the act of will upon other faculties of the mind, 
among them that quoted from Edwards (p. 96), more 
or less involve this absurdity. If the object were to 
prove that the ivill itself as an entity, distinct from 
the willing agent, is not free, because the will is de- 
pendent upon and controlled by the willing agent, the 
argument would be valid ; but Edwards avows that, by 
will he means the " soul in willing ; " and that such 
willing is dependent upon and controlled by the soul, 
or by the understanding, whether viewed as a distinct 



CONTINGENCE. 317 

portion of the mind, or as a mere mode of its effort, 
goes to prove the freedom of tlie soul in willing. In 
section thirteenth, he applies a similar course of reason- 
ing, or an extension of it, to show that, even if the will 
itself is the cause of the acts of the will, still the will is 
not free, because being an effect it must still be con- 
trolled by its cause, though that cause be itself; that is 
to say, if the will, as cause, controls itself, it is not free, 
which confounds all distinction between what is free 
and what is not free. For, as 1 intimated in defining 
freedom, if that which controls itself is not free, and it 
must be admitted that, that which is controlled by 
something else is also not free, then, as everything in 
action mast either control itself, or be controlled by 
something besides itself, there is no such thing possible 
as free action ; and the term free being wholly un- 
meaning in such application, we could then as well 
reason about violet, or triangular time, or dxfg will, as 
about iYQQ will. The fallacy of this, and of the argu- 
ment before quoted from Edwards (p. 100), is in the 
assumption that, wJiatever is directed and controlled in 
its movement or action is not free / and, as evei-ything 
that moves or acts, must be directed and controlled in 
its movement or action, either by itself, or by some- 
thing else, it follows, from this assumption^ that noth- 
ing can be free. If it directs and controls itself, it is 
still directed and controlled ; and hence, under this 
assumption, not free ; and if directed and controlled 
by something else, it is not free in the accepted notion 
of freedom. If it be granted that that which dii'ects 
and controls its own movement or action is free, the 
argument as against the freedom of the mind in the act 
of willing wholly fails. The argument in section thir- 



318 EEVIEW OF EDWARDS ON THE WILL. 

teenth is, then, obviously and wholly fallacious ; and, 
also, as before intimated, that quoted from page 100. 
At most, they only tend to prove that the will, consid- 
ered as a distinct entity, is not free ; and not that the 
active agent, the mind willing, is not free ; but, on the 
contrary, both of those arguments go to show, or admit 
that mind, in willing, controls its own act of will, 
which, as before shown, is but another expression for 
the freedom of the mind in willing. The position here, 
as elsewhere, really taken by Edwards, or involved in 
his arguments is, that every event is an eflPect of some 
cause on which it is dependent and by which it is con- 
trolled, and, therefore, a necessary effect / that volition 
is an effect of which the action of the mind, in willing, 
is the cause ; but, instead of inferring that the effect^ 
the volition, is necessary, he infers that the cause, the 
action of the mind in willing, is necessary, which is 
wholly illogical. He generally speaks of the freedom 
of the will, and not of \\\q. freedom of the mind in will- 
ing, though he asserts that by the former he means 
the latter, and occasionally expresses it, or its equiva- 
lent, as, " The question is wherein consists the minWs 
liberty in 2iiij particular act of volition ? " (p. 95). The 
utter futility of all attempts to reach any new truth by 
reasoning on the statement we have quoted from page 
100, may be shown by substituting in it the word 
" choice," wherever its admitted equivalents are used, 
which would make the latter half of it read thus : 
' Because, as was observed before, nothing is more 
evident than that when men act as they choose, and d-o 
what they choose, then they do what they choose / and 
to say otherwise would be as much as to affirm that 
men do not choose what appears to suit them best, or 



CONTINGENCE. 319 

what they choose, or that they do not choose what they 
choose ; " or thus, the argument of Edwards, as there 
stated is, " that the acts of the will are none of them 
contingent," &c., " because every act of the will is some 
way connected with the understanding," &c., and " the 
soul always wills or chooses that which, in the present 
view of the mind, * * * appears most agreeable." 
But, as he says, " an appearing most agreeable and the 
mind's prefen-ing or choosing, seem hardly to be prop- 
erly and perfectly distinct," and elsewhere identifies 
will and choice with what is most agreeable or most 
pleasing, the above argument merely amounts to saying 
that acts of will are none of them contingent, because 
the mind wills what it wills. 

The question which Edwards asks as to a volition 
having " an infallible connection witli anything fore- 
going " (p. 96), has already been considered. The argu- 
ments I have adduced go to prove that, even admitting 
the hypothesis that the mind has other faculties which 
influence the will and yet are independent of it, which 
Edwards seems to adopt, his reasoning does not estab- 
lish necessity ; for in this case the mind still controls 
its own action. If, however, the action of those other 
faculties requires an act of will, then the act of will 
which they influence, is really influenced by the mind's 
previous act of will ; and the same, if such faculties 
are, as I have supposed, only varied modes of effort or 
will ; or efforts or acts of will for varied objects. In 
either case this would be influencing or determining 
the final act of will by a preliminary act of will, and 
if this were the end of it, the final act of will would be 
determined by a previous act of will, and the active 
agent, whether it be the mind, or the will itself, thus 



320 EEVIEW OF EDWARDS ON THE AVILL. 

determining its own action, is free ; but in all such 
cases, we must trace the series of efforts back to an 
exciting want and 'd^ perception of some mode of trying 
to gratify it, wliich are independent of the wilL If by 
such other faculties Edwards means the capacity for 
simple perception, then it is the mind directing itself, 
not by means of such capacity itself, but by means of 
t\\Q knowledge which it acquires through this capacity, 
which brings the whole matter to our position, that the 
mind directs its efforts to the gratification of its want 
by means of its knowledge. The argument of Edwards 
seems to assert that any fi'cedom in willing is impos- 
sible ; but it might, with more reason, be asserted that 
all cause is free and cannot even be conceived of as 
otherwise than free. If I direct and control the move- 
ment of a ball, and, while so directed and controlled, it 
impinges against and aff'ects another body, I, and not 
the ball, ain the cause of that effect. - If I throw the 
ball, and, after I have withdrawn all effort from it, it 
continues in motion by a principle inherent in matter 
itself, and not by the will, or effort of any other being, 
then, that which makes it cause is its own motion, 
which is not restrained, constrained, or in any wise 
interfered with, till it comes to produce an effect^ by 
coming in collision with some other body, or in conflict 
with some other force ; and then comes the trial, as to 
what, as a consequence of its own free movement, it 
has power to accomplish. If matter is ever cause, the 
motion, the activity^ which constitutes its only con- 
ceivable causative power, must be uncontrolled ; so the 
effort, through which the mind has causative power, 
must also be free from external control, even though 
the effect be frustrated by some other power ; and, the 



CONTINGENCE. 321 

moment matter is controlled in its movement, or mind 
in its effort, by some other power, it ceases to be cause, 
and becomes only an instrument, used by tlie power 
which controls it, which is then the real cause. In 
either case, too, it is only when it comes to the effect, 
that the causative agent can be frustrated or controlled 
in its action for want of sufficient force or power ; but 
this cannot affect it's, previoits condition as cause — cannot 
change its previous freedom of motion or of effort. 
There is, however, this essential difference between the 
two cases ; that, although the movement of the matter 
in m^otion, till it comes to produce its effect, is free in 
the sense that it is not impeded or controlled by other 
external force at the instant, its freedom stops here, and 
it has no power, no liberty, to control itself. It cannot 
alter any direction given to it ; and, if such direction 
has no extraneous cause, it must have been from eter- 
nity, and every successive motion have been controlled 
by past movements ; there never could have been any 
initial force or movement which was self-controlled and 
directed, for matter never could begin to move itself. 
The term liberty, in the sense in which we apply it to 
intelligent cause, seems inapplicable to matter ; for all 
its freedom consists in not being impeded in doing that 
which some other force has compelled it to do. It has 
no self-control. A body now moving is, therefore, 
rather an instrument, by which some prior cause ex- 
tends its effects in time, than a cause itself; or, more 
properly, a link in a chain of instrumentalities, which 
cannot be traced to any beginning, or real cause in 
matter, for it never could have directed or moved itself. 
On the other hand, mind, perceiving the future varies 



14* 



322 



REVIEW OF EDWARDS ON THE WILL. 



Its efforts from consideration of the future effects, and 
thus escaping the control of the past, acts as jmal 
cause, making such efforts as it perceives in ad- 
vance to be requisite to the future effect it seeks to 
produce. 



CHAPTEE IX. 

CONNECTION OF THE "WILL WITH THE UNDERSTANDING. 

In the preceding chapter I have ah-eady noticed 
some of Edwards's remarks ujjon the connection of the 
will with the understanding, and will now observe that, 
if will is choice, it cannot always, as Edwards asserts, 
"follow the last dictate of the understanding," which 
itself may be a choice ; and, of course, by his definition, 
in such case the last dictate would itself be the willing. 
On this point I would further remark, that this last dic- 
tate is often neither a choice, nor an act of will, nor fol- 
lowed by an act of will. If we investigate abstract 
truth, the last dictate of the understanding is that the 
result is so, or so ; or, perhaps, that it is yet undeter- 
mined ; and, in either case, no volition follows. Sap- 
pose, for instance, we want to ascertain the quantity in 
3x7, and, having aj plied the proper modes, rest in the 
conclusion that it is 21. We have, in this result, a last 
dictate of the understanding, but no volition, or act of 
will follows : the matter is finished, there is no further 
'oant and no further effort j for the want was merely to 
obtain, and is fully gratified by obtaining, this " last 
dictate of the understanding." In regard to our actions, 
however, the object of examination is always to deter- 
mine either between different modes of acting, or be- 



324 REVIEW OF EDWARDS ON THE WILL. 

tween acting and not, acting ; and, in either case, the 
result, or last dictate of the understanding, is always a 
choice or i3reference as to that particular action, or as 
to action or non-action ; and hence, as the choice or 
preference cannot follow itself, it is evident that, if this 
choice is the act of will or volition, it never follows the 
Jast dictate of the understanding. But even admitting 
that Edwards means that the will — volition — which 
always follows the last dictate, is something distinct 
from that last dictate or choice of the understanding, 
still, as the understanding, in his system, embraces cer- 
tain faculties which pertain to mind, it merely follows 
that the mind exerts some of its other faculties in order 
to an exercise of its will, or to decide what the exercise 
of the will shall be. But this involves the absurdity 
of supposing that, before an act of will there must 
always be an act of will ; for this preliminary exercise 
of the other faculties must be by an act of will ; and 
even if this were possible, it would argue nothing 
against either the freedom of the mind in willing, or its 
own, or even the will's self-determining power, but 
quite the contrary. In reply to Dr. Whitby. Edwards 
thus applies the doctor's admission that the will follows 
the last dictate of the understanding : " For if the de- 
termination of the will, evermore, in this manner, fol- 
lows the light, conviction, and view of the understand- 
ing, concerning the greatest good and evil, and this be 
that alone which moves the will, and it be a contradic- 
tion to suppose otherwise ; then it is necessarily so, the 
will necessarily follows this light, or view of the under- 
standing ; and not only in some of its acts, but in every 
act of choosing and refusing. So that the will does not 
determine itself in any one of its own acts, but all its 



CONNECTION OF THE WILL WITH THE UNDEKSTANDING. 325 

acts, every act of choice and refusal depends on and is 
necessarily connected witli some antecedent cause, 
which cause is not the will itself, nor any act of its own, 
nor anything pertaining to that faculty ; but something 
belonging to another faculty, whose acts go before the 
will in all its acts, and govern and determine them 
every one " (p. 104). Here it is evident that Edwards 
makes the will a distinct entity, tlie freedom of which, 
and not the freedom of the mind in using or exercising 
it, is the matter in question ; and that he also treats 
the understanding as if it were also an entity distinct 
from mind ; and, as a distinct power, controlling the 
distinct entity of will ; arguing that the will is not free, 
because it is controlled by the understanding ; which is 
more erroneous than to assert that it is not free because 
of its dependence on the action of the mind through its 
other faculties ; and this attempt to prove, not the mind 
in willing, but the will, as distinct from mind, neces- 
sitated, and thus necessitated because of its subjection 
to the mind's control, pervades the section. Upon such 
reasoning I have already sufficiently commented, and 
shown that it really confirms, or assumes, the freedom 
of the mind in willing. 

In regard to what is said by Edwards (Part II., Sec. 
9) of the necessity of an act of will to attention hy the 
mind, I would remark that it is not an act of will by 
which, when the eyes are open, we see the sun and 
other external objects and their relations. The external 
objects cannot compel, or cause an act of will, producing 
that attention by which these objects are themselves 
first recognized ; for they could produce no eS'ect on 
the mind to make it will, or do anything whatever 
until it recognized them. So also it may not be by an 



326 REVIEW OF EDWAKDS ON THE WILL. 

act of will that the raincl, wlien aroused and made 
sensible by want, perceives its knowledge, now present 
to it, and the relations of that knowledge, intuitive or 
acquired, to its want, also present with its knowledge, 
and all in the mind's view. I do not, however, deem 
it important to the views I have put forth, whether the 
mind, when aroused from a state of inactivity by a 
want, begins by an effort to get the requisite knowl- 
edge to gratify the want, or by a Simple perception of 
that knowledge ; it may begin in either mode, and 
sometimes in one and sometimes in the otlier. In the 
ease of instinctive action, it is probably always a mere 
perception of its intuitive knowledge, and of the rela- 
tions of that knowledge to its want, naturally asso- 
ciated ; and, in the case of habit, similar perceptions of 
its knowledge, artificially associated with its want by 
repetition. In other cases, the mind may have to make 
an (effort to find in its memory, or even newly and for 
the first time to obtain, the knowledge essential to the 
gratification of its want. Its intelligence enables it to 
conform its action, in this respect, to the existing cir- 
cumstances ; and, by effort, to put that portion of its 
body or that faculty of its mind in action, which, in 
view of existing circumstances, it perceives to be best 
for accomplishing its object. This whole matter of the 
will's following the last dictate of the understanding 
amounts then merely to this, that often, when the mind 
loants to produce any change, it makes preliminary 
effort to obtain knowledge as to the mode of producing 
such change, or obtains it by simple perception, and 
then determines its action by means of such knowledge, 
which, as we have already shown, is acting freely. 



CHAPTER X. 



MOTIVE, 



One argument of Edwards, and, perhaps, that which 
he most rehes upon, may be thus stated : There is no 
event without a cause ; the determination of an act of 
will is an event, and must have a cause ; this cause must 
be motive, for without motive the mind would have no 
inclination or preference toward anything ; and, as 
the cause must of necessity produce one certain effect 
and no other, the act of the will is, of necessity, deter- 
mined by the motive to be one particular volition, and 
can be no other. He not only makes motive determine 
the will, but he makes it the cause of the act of will 
itself. We give his own words from the commence- 
ment of section tenth : " That every act of the will has 
some cause, and consequently (by what has been already 
proved) has a necessary connection with its cause, and 
so is necessary by a necessity of connection and conse- 
quence, is evident by this, that every act of the will 
whatsoever is excited by some motive ; which is mani- 
fest, because, if the will, or mind, in willing and choos- 
ing after the manner that it does, is excited so to do by 
no motive, or inducement, then it has no end, which it 
proposes to itself, or pursues in so doing ; it aims at 
nothing and seeks nothing. And if it seeks nothing. 



328 REVIEW OF EDWARDS ON THE WILL. 

then it does not go after anything, or exert any inclina- 
tion or preference toward anything ; w^liich brings the 
matter to a contradiction ; because for the mind to will 
something, and for it to go after something by an act 
of preference and inclination, are the same thing. 

" But if every act of the will is excited by a motive, 
then that motive is the cause of the act of the will. 
If the acts of the will are excited by motives, then mo- 
tives are the causes of their being excited ; or, which is 
the same thing, the cause of their being put forth into 
act and existence. And if so, the existence of the acts 
of the will is properly the effect of their motives. Mo- 
tives do nothing as motives, or inducements, but by 
their influence ; and so much as is done by their influ- 
ence is the efiect of them. For that is the notion of 
an effect, something that is brought to pass by the influ- 
ence of another thing. 

" And if volitions are properly the efl'ects of their 
motives, then they are necessarily connected with their 
motives. Every effect and event being, as proved be- 
fore, necessarily connected with that wliich is the proper 
ground and reason of its existence. Thus it is manifest 
that volition is necessary, and is not from any self- 
determining power in the will." 

In passing, I would remark upon this statement, that 
when in it Edwards says, " for the mind to will some- 
thing, and for it to go after soTnething ly an act of 
preference and inclination, are the same thing," he, in 
fact, materially varies his definition of will, under which 
!ie could only say, " for the mind to .will something, 
and to prefer something, are the same thing ; " and 
the addition makes the act of choosing or preferring, 
mclude the going after the thing chosen or preferred^ 



MOTIVE. 329 

and is one of many instances of the difficulty to which 
he is reduced, from not recognizing, by a distinct term, 
that action of the mind, which sometimes follows its 
clioice, and Mdiich I have called effort j and which he 
here virtually admits as coming between the choice and 
the effect, and characterizes as " the going after the thing 
chosen," and by the remarkable expression, " exert- 
ing a preference," In this case, the proof " that every 
act of the will has some cause," or that every act of the 
will, wha-tsoever, is excited by some motive, rests en- 
tirely on this new assumption, but for the interpolating 
of which, the reasoning would be utterly futile, I do 
not, however, mean to question these propositions when 
the term motive is properly applied, but will here re- 
mark that his statement does not warrant all the in- 
ference he draws. If, as he says, " every act of the 
will is excited by motive," which " is the canse of its 
being put forth into act and existence," and then further 
admitting that motive is some power, or cause not of 
the mind, it would still only follow that some act of 
will is put forth, and not that what that act of will 
shall be is thus determined ; " not that it is in such a 
direction rather than another," Again, if the act of 
will is " 23ut forth," tliere must be some active agent to 
put it forth, Edwards virtually assumes tliat the mo- 
tive is itself the active agent directly producing acts of 
will ; and having thus put it in the place of the mind, 
arrives at conclusions, which really apply to mind, and 
prove that it is the cause of its own volitions and, of 
course, is free. If the motives, whatever they are, do 
not directly produce or control the acts of will, or do 
not directly act with irresistible force upon the will as a 
distinct entity, but are only indncements to the mind 



330 REVIEW OF EDWARDS ON THE WILL. 

to " put forth " some volition, then it may still be for 
the mind to determine whether to yield to those induce- 
ments, or to which of numerous inducements it will 
yield, or in what way it will " go after something," or 
whether it will go after it at all, which would still be 
to determine its own action ; and by its intelligence con- 
form that action to the existing circumstances, which 
motive, as a distinct entity, or any other blind cause 
could not do. In noticing some portions of this argu- 
ment, I may attempt to sliow that even upon Edwards's 
own definition, that " volition is choice," it is fallacious. 
As to what determines the will, he says, " It is that 
motive^ which as it stands in the vieiv of the mind is 
the strongest^ that determines the will^'' (p. T.) He 
also says, " By 'motive^ I mean the whole of tliat which 
moves, excites, or invites the mind to volition, whether 
that be one thing singly, or many things conjunctly." 
(p. Y.) He previously says, " The will is said to be de- 
termined, when, in consequence of some action, or in- 
fluence, its choice is directed to and fixed upon a par- 
ticular object. As, when we speak of the determination 
of motion, we mean causing the motion of the body to 
be such a way, or in such a direction rather than an- 
other." (p- 6.) The word '''■ aot'ion'''' here seems to be 
superfluous ; for, if the action does not influence the will 
it has nothing to do with it ; and if it does, it is an in- 
fluence. Tiie above statements then assert that the 
motive which moves, excites, or invites the mind to 
volition, determines the will, and identify motive and 
influence. The phrase, " the wdiole of that which 
moves, excites, or invites " must include everything 
past, present, or future, which has any possible influ- 
ence on the mind in willing Tliei-e is an apparent limi- 



MOTIVE. 331 

tation in the statement that, it must " stand in the view 
of the mind ; " but as Edwards says, " Nothing can in- 
duce, or invite the mind to will, or act anything, any 
further than it is perceived," this apparent limitation 
only excludes what does not influence, and still leaves 
the phrase to include all that does influence the mind 
in willing. 

This definition of motive then amounts simply to 
this : that whatever influences the mind in willing is a 
motive ; and what does not influence it is not a Tnotive. 
There is, also, the condition that it must be the " strong- 
est motive," and this, of course, must mean that mo- 
tive, which has the most influence on the mind in will- 
ing. The whole of the three statements, then, as 
quoted, and especially if taken in connection with his 
idea that injiuence is that which produces an effect, 
amounts to this, that the mind, in willing, is influenced 
by that which most influences it to will, or that the 
mind, in heing moved to will — we must use this form 
of expression if it does not move itself — is moved by 
that which moves it, or is moved in the direction in 
which it is moved by that which moves it in that direc- 
tion ; or that the mind in willing, " the will," is deter- 
mined by that which determines it. The whole state- 
ment amounts to nothing, ending where it began. It is 
as impossible, logically, to deduce any new truth from 
such statements and definitions as from the expression 
" whatever is, is." In this instance we learn from them, 
in the first place, that the will is determined by that 
which influences it ; next, that what so influences it is a 
certain motive ; and when we inquire what a motive is, 
we are told that it is anything and everything which 
influences the will. It seems to be an unsuccessful at' 



332 KEVIEW OF EDWARDS ON THE WILL. 

tempt to apply the mathematical mode, and make the 
definition give existence to the thing defined, instead 
of desciibing something which ah-eady exists. But, in 
this case, we have to deal with realities and not with 
mere hypothesis. The argument, as Edwards states it, 
really fixes nothing, determines nothing ; it confirms 
nothing, it opposes nothing. If, as some of his oppo- 
nents assert, the will determines the will, then that 
strongest motive, which moves the mind to will, is the 
will itself; and, under hi? definition, the only way in 
which it can be showii that the wnll itself is not such 
a motive, or that it does not conform to his definition 
of it, is to show that the w'lil itself does not determine 
the will ; and, having done thlt^, there is no need of trav- 
elling backward to apply the rale that the will is de- 
termined by the strongest motvvc, to prove that the will 
does not determine itself; foi- that is then already 
proved, and nothing is gained i.u the argument by the 
introduction of the motive. 

So, also, if it be asserted that the mind, by means of 
its knowledge, or by any other mean?, determines its 
acts of will, this is to assert that the mind, by such 
means, becomes such a motive as Edwaidf^ defines ; and 
this assertion, if sustained, would make hio own posi- 
tions proof of the freedom of the mind in willing ; for 
if the mind determined its own acts of will, it .\o not im- 
portant to the question of its freedom by what means it 
does it ; and the assertion would only be proved or dis- 
proved as in the former case, by first proceeding with- 
out any reference to the general idea or definiti'^i of 
motive.* And, if it were asserted that anything' dse 

* See Appendix, Note XLIII. 



MOTIVE. 333 

determined the will, the introduction of motive, as thus 
defined, would really avail nothing to prove or dis- 
prove it ; for, in every case, under Edwards's definitions, 
the only way to prove that this anything is, or is not 
the strongest motive, is first to ascertain whether it 
does, or does not determine the will. Whether, then, 
this notion of motive sustains freedom or necessity, 
depends on the character of the motive ; which does 
not appear in the definition. The difficulty is a radical 
one, and arises from defining " strongest motive " not 
by what it is, or must be, but by something that it may, 
or must do, doing which it is the strongest motive, but 
otherwise it is not the strongest motive. Let one take 
what position he may as to what determines the will, 
he need not deny that it is the " strongest motive " that 
determines it, i. e. as Edwards defines " strongest mo- 
tive ; " for, to assert that anything/ whatever determines 
the will, is to assert that this anything exactly corre- 
sponds to Edwards's definition of" strongest motive," for 
there must then be asserted of it the only distinguish- 
ing characteristic, which he attributed to the " strongest 
motive," viz. : that of determining the will. If freedom 
determines the will, then freedom is the strongest mo- 
tive ; if necessit}^ determines the will, then necessity is 
the strongest motive ; and we have only got a new name 
ready for whatever is proved, or proves itself to be en- 
titled to it. As a philosophical discovery of what deter- 
mines the will, it is much as if a man should say, " I 
have invented a machine by which men can fly. My 
invention consists in such a combination and applica- 
tion of mechanical motors, as will enable men to fly ! " 
Nor would it much enhance its merit, if he should add, 
" The mechanism of this, my invention, must he visible^ 



334 EEVIKW OF EDWARDS ON THE WILL, 

or he known to the man wlio is to fly ; and, of tlie different 
kinds of motors, that which is the strongest, or which 
appears to him the strongest, or which by its effects 
proves itself the strongest, must be used." An inven- 
tor could hardly hope to obtain a patent upon the 
merits of such a specitication. On reading it, a man 
would be very apt to think that this gave him very little 
aid in designing and constructing a flying machine, but 
really left it all for him to find out for himself. The 
same of the motive, one of the difficulties in the specifi- 
cation of which, as already intimated, is, that it does not 
really define what the motive is. Edwards says, " It 
must be something that is extant in the mew or appre- 
hension of the understanding^ or perceiving faculty " 
'J). 7). It is obvious that, to conform to this definition, 
and, at the same time, admit the deduction of neces- 
sity, the motive must be something, which not only is 
not controlled by the mind, but which in some way has 
power to control it. But why, then, is it essential that 
it should be " in the view of the mind," and why, if not 
in view of the mind, is it wholly without influence ? 
If the flying machine just alluded to, is to be used by 
some agent or power extrinsic to the man who flies, and 
he is to be taken up by it, and carried through the air 
without any agency of his own, there can be no possible 
necessity that he should see or feel the machine when 
he is being moved by it. The effect would be accom- 
plished just as well if his eyes were closed, or he asleep 
and wholly unconscious of its action, And, if this mo- 
tive is something, which is itself to move the mind to 
will and not something which the mind is to use to 
move, or direct its will, there can be no necessity that 
it should " be in the view of the mind ; " and such ne- 



MOTIVE. 335 ' 

cessity indicates that the mind must use tlie motive to 
determine its will, and not be used or determined by- 
it ; that the power is in the mind, or active agent, and 
not in the motive, which is only something which that 
agent perceives or knows. 

Again, this motive must also be one particular mo- 
tive. The motives may be numerous, but only one, 
simple or complex, ?'. e., made up of " one thing singly, 
or many things conjunctly," determines the will. I^ow, 
this prevailing motive is not that which from anything 
in itself is the strongest, but that which in the view of 
the mind is the strongest. As the motive cannot itself 
determine that it is the " strongest motive," and, more 
especially, that in the view of the mind, it is the strong- 
est, this must mean that the motive, which the mind 
perceives or judges to be the strongest, determines the 
will. But, if the mind, by the exercise of its faculty of 
judging, or by its capacity to perceive, acquires that 
knowledge by which itself determines the strongest 
motive, and the strongest motive determines the will, 
then the mind, in fact, determines the will ; for to de- 
termine the strongest motive is to determine which 
motive shall prevail ; and, without such exercise of 
judgment, or such application of our knowledge, the 
motive would have no power and would not prevail. 
But the mind determining itself in willing, by meana 
of its intelligence, or by the exercise of any of its facul- 
ties, is only another expression for the freedom of the 
mind in willing. It is very certain that the motive can- 
not itself determine that itself is the strongest motive, 
unless it be an intelligent being with faculties for per- 
ceiving, comparing, and judging, and if, in that case, it 
is the same being whose will is to be controlled, then 



336 REVIEW OF 3.DWARD8 ON THE WILL. 

that being, as its own motive, directly controls its own 
will, and hence wills freely. It cannot be another in- 
telligent being that determines which is the strongest 
motive, for then, it is not " in the mind's view " of the 
one to be influenced, and on him has no influence. If 
this other being has determined which is the strongest 
motive, it must still be so presented to the mind of the 
one to be influenced by it, that he shall also perceive and 
decide or judge that it is the strongest, or it can have 
no influence in determiiiiiig his will. To compare and 
determine which is the strongest of several motives fre- 
quently requires a preliminary effort, or act of will, and 
the " strongest motive " is not effective till this is done, 
and we may then have a series interminable unless ter- 
minated by a simple mental perception requiring no 
preliminary effort. If it be said that one having ascer- 
tained which is the strongest motive, may thereby 
directly control the will of another, who has not ascer- 
tained it, we reply that the controlled will, though in 
another, is really then the will of the controlling being, 
and the controlled has no will in the matter to be con- 
trolled. If the one being indirectly influences the other, 
by so changing the circnmstances that the latter will 
perceive a certain motive to be the strongest, then this 
other is still influenced by his own perceptions, his own 
knowledge, which, as before shown, does not conflict 
with his freedom in willing. Or, if the one, in any way, 
changes the mind's view of the other, with or without 
changing the circumstances or object viewed, then the 
mind influenced is still governed by its own views, its 
own perceptions, own knowledge, otherwise the change 
in its views would not influence it in willing ; so that, 
if such a motive as Edwards suggests be really found, 



MOTIVE. 337 

it will not militate against the position that, if the mind 
wills, it must will freely. 

When Edwards says, " An act of the will is the 
same as an act of cJioosing or choice " (p. 1 ), and that 
" the will is always determined by the strongest mo- 
tive " (p. 8), which again is that " which, as it stands 
in the mind's view, suits it best and pleases it most " 
(p. 9), he, in efi'ect, says, that the choice is determined 
by a choice, if not by the same choice, which is itself 
determined ; for that " which suits the mind hest and 
pltases it mod^'' must, as he asserts, be that which the 
mind })refers or chooses, rather than that which does 
not suit it so well, or please it so nnich ; and, as he 
says, the will is always so determined, we have either 
the act of will or choice always determining itself; or 
every act of will or choice, determined by a preceding 
act of will or choice, ad infinitum / for, if each choice 
in the chain does not determine itself, it must, under 
these statements, be determined by some preceding 
choice or preference for that " which, in the mind's 
view, suited it best," &c., constituting the determining 
motive. 

That the mind has in itself, or in its own view, a 
motive for action, is no reason that it does not act 
freely ; but rather the contrary, as without motive, 
adopting Edwards's view of it, the mind could not be 
said to decide as to its own actions, having no reason 
whatever to make such decision one way rather than 
another, or to decide at all ; and hence would not will 
at all, freely or otherwise. Motives, then, being neces- 
sary to the mind's willing freely, cannot, merely in vir- 
tue of their existence, be a reason why it does not will 
freely. The existence of that thing, which is a neces- 
15 



338 REVIEW OF EDWARDS ON THE WILL. 

sary condition to the existence of something else, can- 
not, of itself, be a reason why that sometliing else does 
not exist, but, on the contraiy, prepares the way for its 
existence. To have shown that the mind wills without 
any motive, would have better subserved the argument 
for necessity. 

These views and objections are suggested by Ed- 
wards's definition of motives and his remarks upon 
them ; and seem to show that they admit of no such 
application to the mind in willing as can furnish a 
foundation for necessity ; and that, in attempting so to 
apply them, he involves views contradictory to his own 
positions, and which, virtually, or by implication, affirm 
freedom. If this is asserting too much for the argu- 
ment which we have just presented, we think it will 
not be denied that whether the motives prove neces- 
sity or freedom, must, as before stated, depend on their 
character. Hence it becomes important to know what 
they are, that their character may be ascertained ; and, 
if Edwards had in view some actual motives, which 
would make this important link in his argument, it is 
much to be regretted that he did not so define them, 
that others could readily find and test them. If he had 
any idea of such, liis definition, as before shown, will 
give us little «id in finding them ; and the illustrations 
he subsequently uses do very little to relieve us from 
the difficulty of searching them out in that almost 
boundless expanse, " the whole of that, which moves, 
excites, or invites the mind to volition," limited only 
by the one condition that it is " in the view of the 
mind." This may embrace everything of which the 
mind has cognizance, within or without itself, making 
it difficult to' examine the whole ground ; but, by a 



MOTIVK. 339 

elassificatiou of the objects, some approximation to it 
may be possible. Before attempting this, however, we 
will remark that Edwards, warranted perhaps bj the 
latitude of his definition, uses the term motive in 
two very different senses ; sometimes as meaning the 
mind's view of any objects or things, and at others, any 
objects or things which the mind views. His definition, 
" By motive I mean * * * one thioig singly, or 
many things conjunctly," favors the latter, as also the 
expression, " a motive is something which is extant in 
the view or apprehension of the understanding, or per- 
ceiving faculty." And when he says, " the will is de- 
termined by that motive, which, as it stands in the view 
of the mind, is the strongest," we should hardly sup- 
pose him to mean that the view of the mind is itself 
the motive that s'ands in the view of the m.ind. This 
could only mean, that the mind views what it views, 
or that it views another of its views. But he subse- 
quently says, " if strict propriety of speech be insisted 
on," the act of volition itself is always determined by 
that in, or about the mind's view of the object^ which 
causes it to appear most agreeable " (p. 11), i. «., not by 
the object^ but by the mind's view of it ; and again, " the 
idea of the thing preferred has a prevailing influence " 
(p. Y6), and still more strongly to this point, " the will 
is akoays determined by the strongest motive^ or by that 
VIEW of the 7nind, which has the greatest degree of 
jprevious tendency to excite volition " (p. 16). Here, 
as he cannot mean that the view of the mind is some- 
thing else thsn the strongest motive, which may also 
determine the will, motive has got to be nothing else 
but a view of the mind. It may be said that this ex 
pression is elliptical, as there must be something which 



340 REVIEW OF EDWARDS ON THE WILL. 

tlie mind views. Still there remains the important dis- 
tinction between the mind's beina; influenced in willing 
by its view of the object, or by the object viewed. Con- 
founding the two in the one word " motive^'' leads to 
much confusion in Edwards's argument, but as he really 
thus uses it, we must, to give all the scope he assumes 
for his position, concede to him the double meaning, 
and consider motive as embracing not only the mind's 
view of objects, but also the objects viewed. 

But to return : asserting that the volition is deter- 
mined by the view of the mind, let that which is 
viewed be what it may, is merely saying that the mind, 
in willing, is determined by its own views ; and, as it 
must be the mind itself which makes the application of 
these views, it is saying that the mind determines its 
own act of will by means of its own views, which is but 
another expression for its freedom in willing ; so that, 
if the essence of the motive is in the vietv of the mind, 
the influence which Edwards ascribes to the motive 
confirms the freedom of the mind in willing ; and it 
would not be necessary to inquire as to the objects 
viewed. 

If, however, it be said, that although the mind in 
willing determines itself by its own view, yet the object 
viewed is essential to that view, and, therefore, essen- 
tial to the determination ; it may, in conformity with 
the views I have asserted, be replied that, to have any 
influence, the object which the mind views must either 
be its own want, or an object which may be selected to 
gratify that want, or some knowledge to enable it to 
decide as to that selection and its subsequent action. 
If it is a want, it furnishes a foundation for action to 
gratify it ; if it is an object of choice, it adds to the sub- 



MOTIVE. 341 

jects from among which the mind may select to gratify 
the want. If it is knowledge of any kind, it adds to 
the power of the mind to adapt the objects of choice to 
its wants, enabling it to decide more intelligently or 
wisely as to its own acts. The first furnishes the occa- 
sion or opportunity for the act of will ; the two last are 
merely cases of the knowledge of the mind being in- 
creased, either as to the objects wanted, or the means 
of obtaining them, by which freedom in willing is facil- 
itated, and its sphere of action enlarged. 

In regard to the other position, that the motive is the 
ohject viewed^ Edwards admits that the object itself, un- 
less in the vieio of the mind, can have no influence. He 
says : " Nothing can induce, or invite the mind to will, or 
act anything, any further than it is perceived, or is some 
way or other in >!ie mind's view ; for what is wholly un- 
perceived and perfectly out of the mind's view, cannot 
affect the mind at all " (p. 7). These views of the 
mind, of any objects or circumstances whatever, are, as 
just stated, but portions of its knowledge of things, 
upon which to exercise its powers to produce change, or 
of truths enabling it to exercise these powers intelli- 
gently ; and, as such, are essential to such exercise. 
Without them it would not make effort, or will at all ; 
and the existence of the things viewed or objects of 
effort, or of the mind's view, or knowledge in regard to 
them, which thus facilitates and aids the mind in will- 
ing, cannot be a reason why it does not will freely. The 
power existing in the mind to avail itself, in its contem- 
plated action, of certain cor)ceivable objects or circum- 
stances, may be limited or made nugatory in conse- 
quence of those objects and circumstances being absent, 
or, from any cause, unattainable; but this does not pre- 



342 REVIEW OF EDWARDS ON THE WILL. 

vent its willing freely in regard to those which it deems 
attainable. Suppose, for instance, a man is huQgry and 
seeks to gratify his want for food. He knows that for 
copper he can obtain food ; for silver, better food, and, 
for gold, the best, or that food which he likes best; 
but he perceives that the present circumstances are such 
that he cannot obtain the gold ; only silver and cop- 
per are possible. He acts just as freely in the prelim- 
inary effort to ascertain which of these two it is best to 
strive for, and in his subsequent efforts to obtain and ap- 
ply the one selected by the preliminary act, as he woidd 
have done had all the three been attainable. His free- 
dom consists, not in his having power to make the cir- 
cumstances already existing different from what they 
are at the time, which is a contradiction, and hence not 
within the province even of Infinite Power to accom- 
plish, but in directing his efforts, by virtue of his own 
intelligence, to effect desii'ed changes among the circum- 
stances as they are at the moment of his action. If the 
circumstances had been different, he might have acted 
differently, and yet have willed freely, because — and 
even supposing the same circumstances to necessarily 
produce the same effect — a free act of will may be as 
different from what it would be under different circum- 
stances, as if it were necessitated by the circumstances ; 
and no inference against its freedom can be drawn from 
this variety of action under different circumstances. If 
the power to effect the change were directly exerted by 
the circumstances, it would argne in favor of necessity ; 
but as theae circumstances can only change the knowl- 
edge of the mind — the mind's view — wliicli the mind 
must itself apply in its action, it argues self-government 
or freedom. In this latter case, the influence of the 



MOTIVE. 343 

motives amounts only to the mind's applying its 
knowledge and efforts to make these circumstances 
subservient to its own designs, and thus available in 
gratifying its wants. To say that the mind does not 
will freely because various objects of effort exist, and 
the mind has the faculty of perceiving, or of finding 
reasons for preferring one or more of them to others, 
and has a motive to act in conformity to that prefer- 
ence ; is to say, that the mind does not act freely, be- 
cause it has the opportunity and ability to choose its 
action, and to conform its action to such choice. It is 
obvious that this variety of objects or of circumstances 
is essential to the preliminary effort of the mind in 
choosing. It wants to produce a certain efiect in the 
future. If the mode of doing it is not already known, 
or immediately perceived, it examines, i. e., makes a 
preliminary effort to find a mode ; and if more than one 
mode is found, it compares and ascertains which is pre- 
ferable ; it chooses among them ; and may then, by 
3^et another preliminary act, ascertain whether action 
or non-action is preferable ; it chooses as between ac- 
tion and non-action. In all these preliminary efforts it 
has obtained only knowledge ; and if having chosen 
thus to act, it does not so a<;t, or make such effort, it 
must be because it is constrained or restrained from 
controlling and directing its own action. But no exter- 
nal power can control or restrain the effort, though it 
may frustrate the design and defeat the object of it. 
Much that I have before said of the relation of circum- 
stances to the mind in willing, is especially applicable 
to preliminary efforts of the mind in choosing ; and all 
goes to show that volition, both as a final act and as a 
prelitninary, by examination, to cho'co, is an original 



344 REVIEW OF EDWARDS ON THE WILL. 

act of the mind, which, but for its action, would not 
be ; and which might be, though there were no ac- 
tivity or power besides itself in existence at the time 
of such choice, or such volition ; and hence, nothing to 
constrain and nothing to restrain or limit it but the 
consciousness of its own finite nature. And, even this 
cannot be said to be a limit to its power of choosing or 
of willing ; but only a limit to its power of conceiving 
of things to be chosen or acts to be willed or done, and 
of its knowledge of modes or means to do them. 
Whenever it can conceive of anything to be done and 
that there may be a possible mode of doing it, it can 
make the efibrt, although, from its finite nature, it is 
liable to be mistaken in the relation of means to the 
end ; and to be frustrated in the execution of its design. 
It is not in the willing to do, but in the doing what we 
will, that we are liable to be frustated or disappointed 
by the circumstances which are extrinsic to the mind, 
and those circumstances which are independent of the 
mind only fix what the mind is to choose among, and 
do not influence its freedom in the act by which it 
chooses among them, nor in its action in regard to at- 
taining that which is chosen. 

In seeking for such a motive as Edwards uses in his 
argument, I would suggest the following classification 
of the " somethings which may exist in the view of the 
mind," in which phrase he gives the only clue to his 
idea of motive. As classing some of these as motives 
may appear contradictory and futile, I may, in justice 
to Edwards, observe that many of them are such as he 
does not seem to contemplate ; though liis definitions 
and statements are broad enough to cover ev'erything 
conceivable, and I wish to give to the argument all he 



MOTIVE. 34:5 

can possibly claim for it. I suggest, then, the following 
objects as possibly coming within his definition of mo- 
tives. 

1. The mind itself. 

2. Its attributes, or faculties. 

3. Its emotions 



, ^ . 1 Constituting its feeling. 

4. Its sensations. ) 

5. Its innate knowledge.* 1 

6. Its memories of things and Constituting 

thoughts in the past. V its 

7. Its perceptions of the present, i knowledge. 

8. Its conceptions of the future, j 

9. Its imaginings. 

10. Its associations. 

11. Other mind; representing all intelligences, other than the 

mind to be determined.. 

12. The faculties of these oiher minds. 

] 3. Its emotions. • 

14. Its sensations. 

15. Its knowledge, past, present and future. 

16. Material phenomena; including any circumstances, which are 

extrinsic to mind. 

We will consider these in their respective order. 

1. If the mind itself is the motive that determines 
its own act of will, then, as before shown, the mind in 
such an act of will is free. 

2. If the attributes or faculties of the mind are the 
motives, then, as these attributes or faculties can do 
nothing except as they are exercised or exerted by the 
mind, it must be the mind^ in the exercise of its facul- 
ties, that determines the will i which, again, would 
prove the mind's freedom in willing. 

3. An emotion, which is not in itself a want, and 

* See Appendix, Note XLIV. 
15* 



346 REVIEW OF EDWARDS ON THE WILL. 

which does not produce want, is not a motive. As we 
have ah'eady suggested that no want arises, so no act 
of will can spring from that joy, which so satisfies the 
mind that it desires no change, or from that holy and 
nnseltish grief which it wonld not banish nor modify ; 
and, of that anguish which arises from the conscious- 
ness of error, the cause is in the past, and cannot be 
reached by any act of will ; while admiration, wonder, 
and awe compose or still, rather than excite, the active 
faculty. All these but make a part of the past expe- 
rience, adding to tliat present knowledge which aids the 
mind in determining its course in tlie future. But with 
these and other emotions, as love, hope, fear, anger, the 
mind may have corresponding wants, if only the want 
to derive pleasure, variety, or excitement from them. 
These wants, and the sensation or perception of these 
wants, may induce the mind to act for its own gratifica- 
tion or relief. But the wants cannot themselves deter- 
mine that action, for that must depend on the percep- 
tion by the mind of the means of gratifying the want ; 
and the perception must include, or be the preconcep- 
tion of, the relation of the future effect of its own act to 
its want, which brings it to the case of the mind deter- 
mining its action by its own view, which we have be- 
fore considered. If it has no such perception of a 
means of gratifying the want by an act of will, and 
that the want may thereby be gratified, there is no act 
of will put forth ; which shows that the mind, in grati- 
fying any want which may arise from the emotions, 
still directs its action by means of its preconception or 
knowledge of the future effect of its effort, which it only 
can apply, and hence in such effort acts freely. 

4. Sensation, as before stated, may, with knowledge, 



MOTIVE. 347 

produce want, suggesting some change for its gratifica- 
tion ; or, it may be but a perception of an external fact 
in the present, involving no want of change in the fu- 
ture. The effect of want as a motive, and of the inci- 
dental addition of another fact to our knowledge, have 
both been already sufficiently considered in their re- 
spective relations to the determination of the mind in 
willing, and shown not to militate against its freedom. 

5. Innate knowledge is that knowledge which is 
directly communicated by the Creator to the creature, 
but, becoming a portion of its own knowledge, in no 
respect differs in its effects or influence on the will from 
other or acquired knowledge. That, as suggested in 
our chapter on instinct, it may be in such a form as not 
to require any contrivance to adapt it to use, in the act 
of willing, and thus facilitates the action of the mind in 
willing, does not conflict with the mind's freedom in 
the act which is thus facilitated. 

6. The mind's memory of the past, including its own 
thoughts, and embracing, of course, the knowledge of 
things, events, and abstract truths which it has acquired 
in that past. The things and events from being in the 
past, and the abstract truths from their nature, are un- 
changeable, and hence not subjects for the action of the 
will, and only make a portion of the knowledge of the 
mind, by which it is enabled to decide its future course. 

7. The result of the mind's perceptions of the present 
ii a knowledge of existing things. These may admit 
of a succession differing from themselves — of change 
—and this change be the object of the mind's act of 
will ; but the mind will not will, or make effort to 
change them, unless it has some want to be gratified 
by such change. The things themselves cannot indi- 



348 REVIEW OF EDWARDS ON THE WILL, 

cate what changes will gratify the want, for they cannot 
even know what the want is. To do tliis requires intel- 
ligence. To adapt things, or the changes in things, 
which are effected by volition, to the simplest want, 
requires not only knowledge, but contrivance, which 
things have not. For instance, hunger is the want of 
food in the stomach : we cannot immediately will the 
food there, but have to apply our knowledge and power 
of thought or exann'nation, in adapting and devising 
means and ways of doing it ; even after it is in the 
mouth, it is not the food that knows that it must be 
masticated and swallowed, and the order of these two 
processes. It is the mind's perception, that by the 
various acts, from the procuring the food to the swal- 
lowing of it, and by these acts, in a certain order, the 
sensation of hunger may be relieved, that enables it 
intelligently to determine its successive efforts to that 
end ; and this preconception of the effect of its 
efforts it is enabled to form by its faculty of conceiving 
of the future — its finite prophetic power — which is 
aided and rendered less fallible by every increase of its 
knowledge. In such case, neither the mind's percep- 
tions nor that which is perceived can determine ; but 
the perception or knowledge enables the mind to de- 
termine. 

8. The mind's conception of the future is itself a 
view by the mind, and, as such, embraced in our re- 
marks on the mind in willing being determined by its 
own views. We are admitting the largest possible lat- 
itude to what may be conceived to be motive, but the 
mind's own view or conception of the future, of some- 
thing which as yet has no objective reality, but is exclu- 
sively a view of the mind within itself, seenjs hardly 



MOTIVE. 349 

sucli a motive as Edwards speaks of as " standing in the 
mind's view ; " for the mind's perception of that future 
is the mind's view itself, and not something which 
stands in that view. If this be tlie motive, we need 
]iot repeat our reasoning to show that such views of the 
mind, such motives, are the essential element which 
enables the mind to determine its own acts of will a3 an 
independent, creative, iirst cause. 

The motive cannot be that future which the mind 
views, for it, as yet, has no actual existence, and can 
have no influence on the mind except by or through the 
mind's anticipation of it, which is the mind's view just 
considered, and makes a portion of its knowledge. 

9. The mind's imaginings being such combinations 
as have no objective existence, past or present, but sup- 
posed capable of existence, may also be i-egarded as in the 
future, and be classed with those conceptions which are 
incipient creations of the mind. Being palpable and 
tangible to itself, they gratify some want of the mind, 
as the love of knowledge, the sentiment of beauty, &c. 
If, for convenience, we take some circumstances of the 
past, and in imagination vary them, or add some new 
feature, the new combination really has no past exist- 
ence, and, as present, exists only as a view of the mind 
without any objective existence ; and, whether we locate 
it in the past, present, or future, or give it no particular 
place in time, makes no more ditference than the loca- 
ting of a geometrical diagram in time. \r\ l)otli cases 
they are but constructions, alfording pleasure by their 
harmony, symmetry, and beauty, or aiding the mind to 
solve some problem and thus to increase its knowledge. 

10. The associations of the mind are only other por- 
tions of its knowledge, suggested by that portion which 



850 KEVIKW OF EDWARDS ON THE WILL. 

is immediately in its view ; and, tliough very important 
in giving the mind a ready use of its knowledge in the 
formation of its ])lans, whicli ai-e prerequisites of rational 
action, and yet more especially, in that recalling of 
former plans, which is the basis of habitual action, still 
association is but, in this connection, a means by which 
the mind uses its knowledge in directing its will, and 
requires here no further comment. 

11. Any other mind or intelligence, as a mere object, 
viewed or apprehended by the mind, can have no influ- 
ence differing in Mnd from that of the mind's view of 
any other extrinsic object, and this we have already 
considered. If this other mind has in it anything which 
will gratify a want in the mind that views it, this mind 
may put forth an effort to obtain that thing. We have 
before considered in a similar connection the case of the 
will of one mind being controlled directly or indirectly 
by another mind by means of the exercise of any of its 
powers, or otherwise, and need not repeat the reason- 
ing or the result ; and this, with the consideration that 
those powers cannot exert themselves or have any influ- 
ence except as exerted by the mind to which they ap- 
pertain, disposes, also, of 

12. The attributes and faculties of one mind, as a 
motive, determining the will of another mind. 

13. 14, 15. The emotions, sensations, and knowledge 
of another mind can have no iiifluence, except as they 
are made manifest to the mind to be influenced in that 
case, becoming but portions of its own knowledge, and, 
as such, already shown not to interfere with its freedom 
in willing. We may, however, further remark that the 
knowledge which one mind acquires from another co- 
ordinate or like mind, must be of the same character as 



MOTIVE. 351 

that which it acqiiires or has from other sources ; and 
that the knowledge which the finite mind derives from 
the Infinite when directly imparted is intuitive ; and 
when indirectly^ by the written expression of His 
thoughts in nature, they are but the knowledge of 
material phenomena or that which is extrinsic to the 
mind, which belongs under our next and last division. 

16. Material phenomena, including any circum- 
stances which are extrinsic to the mind. Material 
objects cannot, of themselves, be such a motive, for they 
may have existed from all etei-nity, and yet never have 
produced or determined a volition, and even may have 
been in the mind's view for any length of time and yet 
never have moved it to will, or determined its will ; 
but if they are a necessary cause in themselves, then 
the moment they exist they must produce their effect, 
or if the additional circumstance that they must be " in 
the mind's view," makes them the cause of volition in 
that mind, then, as soon as they are in that mind's view, 
the volition should follow. That this is not the fact, 
proves that there is something besides the material 
object and the fact that it is in the mind's view, which 
produces the effect, or determines the will. The same 
is true of extrinsic circumstances, Nor can any changes 
in these extrinsic objects and circumstances, whether 
produced by the motion of matter, or by intelligent 
action, of itself, move the mind to will. Increase or 
vary the circumstances ever so much, they could no 
more produce any volition in themselves or in others 
— a volition having reference to an effect which as yet 
is not — than the extension of the multiplication table 
could make it know itself or feel hungry. However 
blindly active among themselves, they cannot embrace 



352 REVIEW OF EDWARDS ON THE WILL. 

that design, that intention, to produce a precomjeived 
result, which is an essential characteristic of volition, 
and which distino-uislies the action of intellio;cnt from 
blind causes. For this they avail nothing until the 
mind uses them as its knowledge to determine its action ; 
and the mind is itself really the efficient cause of that 
determination, freely adapting its action to tlje circum- 
stances in its view. There is, evidently, no way in 
which these circumstances can directly produce a voli- 
tion in the human mind, and if they could, it would be 
the volition of the circumstances, and not of tlie human 
being. These extrinsic circumstances can influence the 
mind in willing only as they are perceived or appre- 
hended by the mind, and, as such, become but a part of 
the mind's knowledge, and, of course, subject to our 
previous conclusions, that knowledge, however acquii-ed, 
is used by the mind to enable it to determine its acts ; 
and hence, is essential to its freedom in willing ; every 
increase in knowledge enlarging its sphere for the exer- 
cise of such freedom. 

There are vague notions, in the popular mind, in 
regard to the influence of circumstances upon us, often 
bordering on fatalism, if not really involving it, and 
which find expression in sucili phrases as " man is the 
sport," or " he is the creature of circumstances." One 
reason for t.liis is, that we are liable to be frustrated by 
circumstances in the execution of what we wnll. This, 
it will be observed, is su(;h an efl'ect, after the act of 
willing, as can have no influence Inickward upon it. 
I will to walk in a certain direction, but am obstructed 
by a rushing torrent, which God lias caused to flow 
there, or by a wall erected thi-ougli human agency. 
The circumstance prevents my doing what I intended, 



MOTIVE. 353 

and what, from want of sufficient knowledge, I decided 
to do. The new knowledge thus acquired, leads me to 
alter my course, and I may never again fall into the 
same track that I woidd otherwise have pursued. I go 
on to produce some change, but what that change will 
be depends upou the use which my mind makes of thip 
new, combined with its previous knowledge, in direcling 
its subsequent action. Though I cannot, as now ascer- 
tained, go in the direction intended, there are still an 
infinite number of ways in which I can go ; and among 
these my mind, in virtue of its intelligence, judges 
which is best. It may do tliis by a preliminary free 
act, and then, being free, conform its final action to its 
judgment ; and lience, this influence of cii'cu instances 
does not argue that the mind does not act freely in 
willing, but only that it cannot always execute its de- 
crees ; not that it does not freely try, or make effort, 
but that its powx^r is not always adequate to the eft'ect 
designed, or its knowledge sufficient to direct its efibrts 
most wisely, and the want of freedom, if such this want 
of power may be termed, is just where Edwards asseits 
the only freedom of man exists. 

As the mind's being liable to be frustrated in the 
execution of what it wills by the existence of circum- 
stances of which it did not know, is one reason of the 
popular idea in regard to the influence of circumstances, 
so, on the other hand, another reason for it may be 
found in the limitation of the circumstances — in the 
absence or non-existence of some that are essential to 
the execution — to the doing what is attempted — or of 
some which are prerequisites of the eftbrt, which it 
would or might make, if they were present and avail- 
able, and for the want of which the mind either does 



354 REVIEW OF EDWARDS ON THE WILL. 

not will, or wills differently from what it would if thej 
were present and available as a portion of its knowl- 
edge. In their absence, the mind knows no mode of 
obtaining the object for which such circumstances are 
prerequisite. This does not affect :ts freedom in ^\■illing 
as to what, under the circumslances, is attainable, but 
only lessens the sphere in which it can exercise that 
freedom. This sphere, as before stated, is always com- 
mensurate with its knowledge ; and it matters not 
whether the knowledge requisite to any effort — the 
knowledge of some mode — is deficient, because such 
knowledge cannot exist, or sim[)]y because it does not 
exist in the mind. The limitation of the sphere of effort 
is the same in either case. I may know not only that 
/cannot now make 2 + 2 = 5, but that it is an impossi- 
bilit}', and hence, will not seek any mode of doing it. 
I may also know that I have no knowledge of any geo- 
metiical process by which to ti'isect an arc, and, as I do 
not know that this is an impossibility, I may seek to 
increase my hnowledge^ and by means of such increase 
devise some mode in conformity to which 1 may direct 
my efforts to trisect the arc. So that, whether the 
thing to be done be absolutely impossible, from there 
being no possible mode of doing it, or only relatively 
to me impossible, because I know of no way, the for- 
mula heretofore adopted, tliat the mind''s sphere of free 
activity^ or for the exercise of its creative jpowers hy will 
or effort, is commensurate with its Itnowltdge^ covers the 
whole ground. If the mind of every human being at 
all times embraced all knowledge, then, all the circum- 
stances presented to every mind would, of necessity, be 
the same, but by the limitation of human knowledge 
different circumstances are presented to different minds. 



MOTIVE. 355 

Of two persons wanting^ a metal, one may have, within 
his power, head, zinc, and gold ; another Only lead and 
zinc; hut the hitter chooses and conforms his effort to 
his choice as freely in i-egard to the two, as the former 
in regard to the three. If a man with all the natural 
endowments of Newton, and with his acquired habits 
of industrious and persevering study, had always lived 
in the Sandwich Islands, he would not have had, in the 
surrounding circumstances, the opportunities essential 
to such discoveries as Newton made. The requisite 
books and instruments — the means of knowledge — 
would not have been there accessible, or to him pos- 
sible; but he would have been equally free by effort to 
avail himself of such means as w^ere there in his power. 

The mind varies its own action to conform to the 
relations which it perceives between the circumstances 
and the preconception of the effect by which it seeks to 
gratify its want, and it does this in virtue of that intel- 
ligence, which, perceiving this relation, makes self- 
control and freedom, or self-action free from extrinsic 
control, possible to it. 

We find then, in all this conceivable i-ange, no mo- 
tive that so determines the will as to warrant the infer- 
ence of necessity ; none to which the mind itself is 
subordinated, or which will admit of dispensing with 
the mind itself as the cause, which determines its own 
acts of will. 

Let us now see if Edwards has himself indicated any 
6uch actual motive. In the general statement, already 
quoted, he affirms that without motive the mind in 
willing " has no end which it jprojposea to itself, or pur- 
sues in so doing ; it aims at nothing, and seeks nothing, 
and, if it seeks nothing, then it does not go after any- 



356 REVIEW OF EDWARDS ON THE WILL. 

thing.'''' These expressions indicate tliat the essence of 
the motive is in the end which the mind seeks, some- 
thing which as yet is not, but which will be the effect 
of its volition, and that which is in the view of the 
mind as the motive to the volition, is the idea of the 
effect of the volition. But the idea or preconception of 
the effect of a volition could have no influence toward 
a volition, if the mind did not want to produce the effect 
it preconceived. The want is the incitement to effort ; 
and the mind's judgment or knowledge as to tlie adapta- 
tion of the effect, which it anticipates in the future, to 
the want and of the effort to the effect, enables it to 
determine as to the particular effort or volition it will 
put forth. 

So, also, in the particular case by which he illus- 
trates the influence of the strongest motive, he says : 
" Thus, when a drunkard has his liij^uor before liim, and 
he has to choose whether to drink it or no ; the proper 
and immediate objects, about which his present voliti(m 
is conversant, and between which his choice now de- 
cides, are his own acts in drinking the liquor, or letting 
it alone ; and this will certainly be done according to 
what, in the present view of his mind taken in the 
whole of it, is most agreeable to him. If he chooses or 
wills to drink it, and not to let it alone, then this 
action, as it stands in the view of his mind, with all 
that belongs to its appearance there, is more agreeable 
and pleasing, than letting it alone " (p. 10). 

The expression " between which his choice now de- 
cides," must mean, between which he hy an act of cJ<oice 
710X0 decides (otherwise he makes choice decide the 
choice), and, taking this as his meaning, the objects 
contemplated by the drunkard are his own acts in 



MOTIVE. 35T 

" drinking or letting alone," either of which is yet in 
the future. 

It is true that Edwards immediately says, " But the 
objects to which this act of volition may relate more 
remotely, and between whicli his choice may determine 
more indirectly, are the present pleasure the man expects 
by drinking, and the futm-e misery whicli he judges 
will be the consequence of it ; " but, at tlie time of this 
judgment, both the drinking and its consequences are 
in the future — still expected — and the anticipated con- 
ception of them is all that " is in the mind's view." 
The mind by its judgment is to weigh its preconception 
of the effect of "drinking the liquor," against its pre- 
conception of the consequences of " letting it alone," 
which, Edwards has just said, are the acts between 
which the drunkarci's choice now decides ; and though 
Edwards does not expressly say so, yet, to give the illus- 
tration any force or meaning, we must suppose that, of 
the two acts about which he says " the present volition 
is conversant," that one which, " as it stands in the 
view of his mind with all that belongs to its appearance 
there," is most agreeable, or suits it best, is the strong- 
est motive ; and this is but a preconception of the 
effects of a certain act, which the mind decides to be in 
accordance with that want which it seeks to gratify. 
As already remarked, Edwards does not say this, nor 
does he appear to have had any clear thought of it ; but 
it seems difficult to make the facts he states, or the case 
he cites, illustrate any other position than that his mo- 
tive is, in fact, the mind's view of the future effect of 
its own action, and this is the mind's knowledge by 
which it perceives a reason for acting and for the partic- 
ular direction of its action, and not a motive power 



358 KEVIEW OF EDWAEDS ON THE WILL. 

putting the mind in action. Such view is but the rea- 
son why the mind, as cause, acts in one particular man- 
ner, instead of another, rather than a cause itself of the 
action, or of the particular manner of the action. His 
" motive," however, as illustrated in this instance, corre- 
sponds to the influence which I have assigned to the 
mind's preconception of the eifects of its effort, and " the 
mind's view " is but a portion of its knowledge, which 
it uses to determine its action, as it uses any other 
knowledge it may have, and which knowledge, as 
already indicated, by a preliminary effort to examine, 
or to consider, by deliberation, and sometimes perhaps 
by an immediate mental perception, becomes the judg- 
ment of the mind. As he uses " motive " in some other 
places, it indicates the influence which I have assigned 
to want ^ and, in this instance, just quoted, the decision 
of the mind is really to be between two conflicting 
wants — the want to enjoy the pleasure of " drinking 
the liquor," and the want, "• by letting it alone," to 
avoid the unpleasant consequences of drinking it — 
both of which, under Edwards's view, must be motives ; 
and that, the gratification of which in the mincVs view 
suits it best, is the strongest motive. 

Even admitting, then, that the same causes neces- 
sa/rily jproduGe the same effects^ which is still an essential 
link in this argument for necessity, this doctrine of mo- 
tives, from its inception in the definition and statements 
of it to its conclusion, reveals nothing which really con- 
flicts with the results attained in Book First of this 
Treatise ; and, on examination, it turns out that the 
motive which, by a mere hypothesis, is made the cause 
of the determination of the will, can be in reality noth- 
ing but the mind itself, or the mind's own views ; and, 



MOTIVE. 359 

in either ease, as the application of the views must be 
made by the mind that views, it is the mind wliich de- 
termines its own volitions or efforts. And this expres- 
sion for its freedom is made more emphatic by the de- 
velopment which comes out in the illustration and in 
the final sunmiing up of the argument by Edwards, that 
the mind in willing is not only determined by its own 
views, but by its view of the future efiects of its own 
action, as yet having no existence except in its own 
preconception, whicli is its own creation ; or rather, by 
the relations which it perceives between its own cre- 
ated preconception and its own want ; and the consid- 
eration that these relations do not inhere either in the 
Avant or in the preconception, but are in the mind's 
view wholly by the exercise of its intelligent faculties — 
its own thought — directed to the examination by means 
of its own previous knowdedge, intuitive or acquired ; 
that such examination is essential to a wise action; and 
that it is by such knowledge that Supreme Intelligence 
itself must direct its action ; serve at once to illustrate 
and strengthen our position. It would, indeed, seem 
that there could be no stronger expression of the free- 
dom of an intelligent agent in willing, than that it 
determines its own acts of will, by means of the knowl- 
edge obtained by the exercise of its own faculties, of 
the relation between its own creations — the preconcep- 
tions of the future effects of its efforts — and its own 
wants. The whole process and all the elements of the 
act of will in such case are in and of the being that 
wills. 

But, supposing all these difficulties and objections 
to these positions of Edwards to be, in some way, sur- 
mounted, we hava still to inquire as to the meaning of 



360 KEVIEW OF EDWARDS ON THE WILL. 

that " previous tendency," which is an all-important 
element in motive, as applied in his argument for neces- 
sity. He says : " Everything that is properly calkd a 
motive * * * has some sort and degree of tendency^ 
or advantage to move, or excite the will jprevious to the 
effect, or to the act of will excited. This previous tend- 
ency of the motive is what I call the strength of t.\e 
motive " (p. 7). And again : " Whatever is perceived 
or apprehended by an intelligent and voluntary agent, 
which has the nature and influence of a motive to voli- 
tion or choice, is considered or viewed as good,''^ i. e , 
the mind perceives or judges it to be good. And, im- 
mediately after the above, he says : " I use the term 
good, namely, as of tlie same import with agreeable ; " 
and hence, the strongest motive is that which appears 
most agreeable, as he thus more fully states : " But if it 
tends to draw the inclination and move the will, it must 
be under the notion of that which suits the mind. And, 
therefore, that must have the greatest tendency to at- 
tract and engage it, which, as it stands in the mind's 
view, suits it best and pleases it most " (p. 9). The 
prevailing motive then, is that which, as it stands in 
tlie mind's view, suits it best and pleases it most. But, 
" a being pleased with " is the phrase which he uses 
(p. 2) as identical with " an act of will," and which lie 
subsequently identifies with choice or preference, by 
saying, " it will not appear by this and such like in- 
stances, that there is any difference between volition 
and jjreference, or that a man's clioosing, liking best, or 
being hest pleased with a thing are not the same with 
his willing that thing,'''' and by many other expressions 
of like import. So that this strongest motive, or " that 
tvhich appears most inviting, and has, by what appears 



MOTIVE. 361 

concerning it to the nnderstanding or apprehension, the 
greatest degree of previons tendency to excite and 
induce the choice," must be that motive for which the 
mind has a clioice or preference over all others, and 
it is this choice or preference of the mind, which gives 
it all its inilaence or tendency to move the will ; but as 
its tendency to move the \^iU \q previous to the act of 
will, or choice, or preference, we have the choice, or 
preference, which gives this previous tendency, not only 
before itself, but under the definition, that " the will " 
is " that hy ivhich the mind chooses anything " (p. 1). 
We have, in this previous t ndency of the motive, a 
choice before that by which the mind chooses has acted, 
which is absurd. 

These results follow from the fact that the terras by 
which Edwards defines " the previous tendency of mo- 
tive," are the same as those by which he designates 
choice or preference ; and if, instead of seeking the re- 
lation of the things in tlie substituted terms or defini- 
tions, we look directly to the things themselves, it 
seems evident that nothing, whatever, has any influence 
to move the mind till it has some preference or choice 
for it. This makes the previous tendency to choice, a 
choice itself, which, by Edwards's hypothesis, w^ould re- 
quire a previous tendency or clioice to excite it, a:i.l so 
on ad infinitum. 

This difiiculty is not obviated by supposing the ])re- 
vious tendency of the motive to inhere in something 
which is extrinsic to the mind, for it is not a motive at 
all until it is in the mind's view, and strongest motive 
is still that which in the mind's view suits it best; and, 
whether it be in the mhuVs view itself, or in the object 
viewed, it can exert no influence until the mind has 
16 



363 REVIEW OF EDWARDS ON TTIE WILL. 

some choice or preference for it, which still makes the 
choice previous to the act of will or choice, and before 
that by which the mind chooses lias acted. We here 
again observe how this, the main argument of Edwards, 
is made fallacious by being -founded on the two incom- 
patible definitions of choice. 

In the unsettled state of metaphysical language, it 
is, perhaps, allowable for a writer to define his own 
terms, and even in some instances, like the mathema- 
ticians, to bring the subjects into existence by the defi- 
nitions. But, in such cases, he must not involve incom- 
patible conditions. If a mathematician should say, " a 
triplogon is a plane re(;tilineal figure included within 
three sides and with three right angles;" or a ma- 
chinist should jplan a flying machine, or a perpetual 
motion, one element of which should be a revolving 
wheel with a weight on one side just equal to one on 
the other, but that on the other a little heavier than it ; 
though one might reason ingeniously and even correctly 
upon such hypotheses, yet no practical result, no new 
reality, could be evolved from it ; and so, if motive, by 
the definition of it, is that which is before itself, or that 
which comes into being before the existence of that 
which gives it being, however subtle the reasoning upon 
it, no practical result, no solution of any question of 
realities, can be evolved from it. All reasoning from 
such hypotheses must take this form : " If a triplogon 
is contained by three sides, and has three right angles, 
then some quadrilaterals must have four sides and six 
right angles ; " and, though this should be shown to be 
a logical consequence, the truth of it would still depend 
upon the possible existence of such a figure as a " triplo- 
gon " has been defined to be. 



MOTIVE. 363 

"We before had occasion to slow that, in Edwards's 
Bystem, there is no room for anything between a state 
of indifference — a not willing or choosing — and the act 
of choice or will ; and, if that conclusion ■was correct, 
there is in his system no room for this motive, or pre- 
vious tendency of motive, between total indifference, or 
not choosing, or not willing, and the act of choosing or 
willing ; but, as appears by the preceding reasoning, 
the motive, or the previous tendency of motive, must 
itself be an act of choice, in his system also an act of 
will, springing directly out of a state of indifference. 

Beyond all these, there exists the same difficulty in 
regard to the determining povi^er of motive, which 
Edwards finds in regard to the will's self-determining 
power. In his system, everything must have an ante- 
cedent cause ; and these motives, and even the previous 
tendency of u)otives, must have a cause as much as the 
volitions of wliicli they are assumed to be the cause. 
If we pass over intelligence in willing, as a first cause 
of its own volitions, making it only an intermediate link 
in the chain of causes, and effects, we never come to a 
beginning or first cause. 

This difficulty must attach to every system, which 
does not recognize some self-moving power, or cause, 
and which, as it cannot be in matter, must be in spirit. 
Edwards, in fact, assumes that motive is a first, self- 
acting cause ; this denies that every act is necessarily 
controlled by some cause in the past, which is an indis- 
pensable link in his argument for necessity. If this 
motive is the intelligence that acts, if the mind itself is 
the motive, or cause of its volitions, then his argument 
really asserts the freedom of the mind in willing. 



CHAPTER XI 



CAUSE AND EFFECT. 



It will be observed that tlie argument of Edwards, 
in favor of necessity, rests mainly upon the assmnption 
that the same causes^ of necessity, produce the same 
effects / I say of necessity^ for if the relation of effect to 
cause be not one of necessity, no necessity of the effect 
can be inferred from the relation. If the motive is the 
cause of the act of choice or volition, and the particu- 
lar act of choice or volition, is not a necessary effect of 
its cause, but some other volition might have ensued^ 
then, there is nothing in the relation of cause and effect 
upon which to predicate necessity in the act of choice 
or volition ; so that the whole force of this argument 
rests upon the hypothesis, that the relation of effect to 
cause is one of necessity. 

That the same causes necessarily produce the same 
effects must mean that, if the same causes occur, or are 
repeated in action any number of times, the same cor- 
responding effect will occur, or be repeated each time. 
If the same cause never occurred, or acted twice, there 
could be no occasion for the rule — nothing to which it 
would apply. It is the same, then, as a case of uniform^ 



CAUSE AND EFFECT. 365 

ity of cause and effect. Now, this law of the imiform- 
ity of cause and effect is known to us only as an em- 
pirical law growing out of our observation of the suc- 
cession of changes in matter, and these changes, as we 
have already shown, must be controlled wholly, or 
mostly, by a creative intelligence— by the will of an in- 
telligent being. The law of uniformity in these changes 
of matter,'^ then, must depend upon the will of this in- 
telligent being. The acts of the finite intelligence 
in producing these changes are but infinitesimal, and 
hence, even if there were no other reason, may be left 
out of view, and the control of the changes in the mate- 
rial universe be ascribed directly to the will of the Su- 
preme Intelligence. We do not even know that the 
movement of our own hand, as a sequent of our voli- 
tion, is not a uniform mode of God's action, and not by 
our own direct agency. The law, then, that in tlie 
material w^orld the same causes produce the same 
effects, is deduced from our observations of the uniform- 
ity of God's action. It cannot be a law of meta]jliys- 
ical necessity, for it is just as conceivable that He 
sliould will that the same set of circumstances should be 
followed by diffei-ent consequences evei-y time they oc- 
curred, as that He should will the same consequences 
with every such recurrence. There is no causal power 
in the fact that the cause has before acted, or that the 
same circumstances have before occurred. Excluding 
such cases as involve contradiction, and which, of 
course, even Infinite Power cannot control or affect, 
there is no reason to presume that the law goes any far- 
ther than is indicated by our observations of the facts. 
"We do not linow that the changes in winds or weather, 
are subject to any such unifoi-mity ; they may, in every 
* See Appendix, Note XLV. 



366 REVIEW OF EDWARDS ON THE WILL. 

individual case, be effected by the will of God acting 
without reference to any uniformity. Even if in sucli 
cases we find that an effect is uniformly preceded by a 
limited series of antecedents, it does not follow that this 
series is a part of one which is infinite. It may be iso- 
lated, and be in fact but God's uniform mode of doing 
that jpariiGular thing, and may have no unifonn con- 
nection with any prior antecedents. To suppose all the 
events to be either necessary terms of an infinite series 
following each other in a necessary order, or even in 
a pre-ordained order, would leave no room for the con- 
tinued exercise of God's designing power, and, as we 
shall have occasion to note xaore particularly hereafter, 
would deprive Him of the highest attribute of Creative 
Intelligence. 

In regard to matter, then, this uniformity of cause 
and effect, so far as it goes, is not a necessary but an 
arbitrary law, which the Supreme Intelligence has 
adopted for His own goveriunent in the management 
of matter, and which our observation of His modes of 
action in tlie material world has revealed to us. There 
is no reason to suj)pose that He makes such laws for 
His own action in all cases — as in changes of the 
M'eather, for instance — or, that He may not vary from 
the law of uniformity, which appears to us to be estab- 
lished, and thus produce what we call miracles. 

That He is all-wise and omniscient obviates the ne- 
cessity of trying expei'inients to which finite intelli- 
gences are subject, for he must be able to preconceive 
the results, and, by a comparison of these preconcep- 
tions, to determine the best modes of action in any cir- 
cumstances without continually trying different modes ; 
and knowing the best mode, will, of course, adopt it in 



CAUSE AND EFFECT. 367 

a recurrence of the same circumstances, unless from 
Bome cause, the gain of variety makes the new mode 
of action, with such variety, better than the old one 
without it. 

When in natural phenomena we seek to general- 
ize existing facts, or the succession of events, we do 
not really seek the consequences of any necessity in 
the same causes to produce the same effects, but the 
consequences of God's uniform action. If we find in 
the premises no evidence of such uniformity in His 
action, our knowledge will be limited to particular facts 
in the past. 

In regard to the finite mind, observation does not 
indicate any snch law of uniformity, or necessity of 
cause and effect, for, it is impossible to predict, with 
certainty, what the action of mind under any cir- 
cumstances will be ; nor, from the act, can we deter- 
mine the cause or reason of the act, which, in one man, 
may be the gratification of his want to do good to 
others, while another man, under the same ajpjoarent 
circumstances, does the same act because he perceives 
that he will eventually thereby be enabled to infiict 
great injury on others. The fact that we cannot, with 
Gertainty^ predict what the future action of any mind 
will be under any antecedents, and conversely, from 
the action cannot, with certainty, tell the antecedents, 
shows tliat there is no observable or known uniformity 
in the relation of this action of the mind to whatever 
the antecedents of its action may be. It may be said, 
that this is because we cannot take into view all the 
circumstances ; but, if so, this not only proves that we 
have no experience proving the rule, but that we can- 
not have any such experience, and such assertion would 



368 REVIEW OF EDWAKDB ON THE WILL. 

thus weaken the position it is intended to support. So 
far as we have opportunities for observing tlie action of 
mind under similar circnnistanees, the fact seems to be 
that, not only do diflferent minds act very differently, 
but that the same mind sometimes changes even its 
habits and modes of action very suddenly and unex- 
pectedly ; and hence observation reveals no rule of 
uniformity of cause and effect which is of necessity ap- 
plicable to mind. Edwards says : 

" I miglit further observe, the state of the mind 
that views a proposed object of choice, is another thing 
that contributes to the agreeableness, or disagreeable- 
ness of that object; the particular temper whi(-h the 
mind has by nature, or that has been introduced and 
established by education, example, custom, or some 
other means ; or tlie frame or state that the mind is in 
on a particular occasion. That object which appears 
agreeable to one, does not so to another. And the same 
object does not always appear alike agreeable to the 
same person at different times. It is mo< agreeable to 
some men to follow their reason, and to otliers to follow 
their appetites ; to some men it is more agreeable to 
deny a vicious inclination, than to gratify it ; others it 
suits best to gratify the vilest appetites. It is more 
disagreeable to some men than others to counteract a 
former resolution. In these respects, and many others 
which might be mentioned, different things will be 
most agreeable to different persons ; and not only so, 
but to the same persons at different times " (p. 14). 

But, if these " objects of choice " in " the mind that 
views," and which he treats as motives, produce such 
different effects on different minds, and, also, on the 
same mind at different times, where is the evidence of 



CAUSli AND EFFECT, 369 

this uniformity, or of this necessity of the effect of these 
motives as cause of the volitions? which is the very 
foundation of his argument upon motives, as already 
shown in the quotation from him (p, 116). 

It may be said that, in such cases, though all extrin- 
sic circumstances are the same, some change in the 
mind varies it as a cause. I Avill consider this point of 
identity, in its effect on the argument, hereafter, and, 
for tlie present, will only remark tliat in such cases it 
must be the changed mind^ which is really the efficient 
cause of the variation in the effect, and that, if the rule 
does not apply to two minds acting under the same 
circumstances because they ai'e not the same cause, nor 
yet to the same mind, acting a second time with all 
other circumstances the same, except such as of neces- 
sity arise from its being a second and not a first time, 
no possible case can arise for the application of the 
rule to mind. 

If, as at least appears probable, spirit is the only 
real cause, and postulating that the finite mind is not 
co-eternal with the Infinite, tliere was a time wdien o]ily 
one cause existed ; and if the same causes necessarily 
'produce the same effects, this one cause never could have 
produced but one effect, or, at farthest, but duplications 
of the same effect. If it be said that the fact of this 
cause having once acted and produced one effect, makes 
such a variation of the circumstances under which it 
acts, tliat its subsequent action may differ from the 
iirst merely from the fact that it is the second, and not 
the first causative action ; then, we say that this en- 
tirely destroys the rule and makes it a nullity ; for the 
same cause cannot act a second time, without having 
acted a first ; and if, from the fact of its having acted 
16* 



3T0 KEVIEW OF EDWAKD8 OiS THE "WILL. 

once, the effect of the second act may be different, there 
can be no such necessary uniformity of effect as the 
law supposes. 

There must be something to determine if there shall 
be a difference between the effect of the first and 
second action, and, if so, what difference. That differ- 
ence in circumstances, which has arisen from the cause 
having once acted, cannot itself determine the different 
action the second time. 

We have already shown that the mere existence of 
the thing created cannot influence the mind that created 
it, except as a circumstance to be considered by it in 
determining its next creative act, and as, by the hy- 
pothesis, there is nothing else in existence when this 
second action is to be determined, it nmst be deter- 
mined by the cause — hy the Infinite Mind — in view of 
the result of its first action, and of what it wants to do 
in the future ; and hence, as before shown, the Infinite 
Intelligence is not only an originating creative cause, 
but, in virtue of its intelligence, can produce diff^erent 
effects by successive acts of volition, and determine 
what the difference in each of these successive acts 
shall be. 

If we suppose all material creation to be the one 
effect of the first action of the First Cause, tlien, under 
this rule of uniformity of cause and effect, that cause 
must have then become dormant ; and as, whether that 
creation be the imagery — the conceptions — of the mind 
of Grod made directly palpable, or His ordering of mat- 
ter conformably to His conceptions, it cannot change 
itself, or be governed or changed by law impnissed 
upon it, it must, so far as Creator and creation are con- 
cerned, remain fixed without change ; for any subse- 



OAUSE AND EFFECT. 371 

qiient change would be auotJier and different effect pro- 
duced by the same cause, which is contrary to the as- 
sumed law, that the same causes necessarily produce 
the same effects, and hence, if this law be true, the first 
effort of the First Cause would destroy itself as cause, 
leaving no room or possibility for its future activity in 
new and different creations, or in changing what it had 
first created. 

But there is change — change in our sensations, if in 
nothing else ; changes we do not produce by any action 
of our own, and hence, we must infer the continued ex- 
istence of some other power as cause, producing these 
changes. 

If the same cause must necessarily produce the 
same effects, the effects must be co-existent with the 
cause ; for if the cause can exist without immediately 
producing the effect, it may exist any length of time, 
and even forever, without the effect, and the effect 
would not be a necessary effect of such a cause ; and, 
in this view, the First Cause, if the subject of such a 
necessity of effect, must have immediately exhausted 
its creative or causative power in a necessary effect. 

If, to obtain a continuing causative power, and yet 
retain the law of necessity in cause and effect, we sup- 
pose the effect of the first cause to have been the crea- 
tion of other cause, then, this other cause, too, must 
have immediately produced all its necessary effects; 
and so of any number of duplicate causes, and there 
would be an end of the power to produce changes, all, 
being simultaneous, would have no existence in time, 
and no subsequent changes could be produced. So 
that the application of this rule to intelligence as cause, 
denies any continuing power to produce changes in the 



372 REVIEW OF EDWAEDS ON THE WILL, 

universe ; which, being contrary to the fact, proves tlie 
rule untrue, and shows the necessity and the tact of 
the existence of a cause which is not subject to tliis law 
of necessity, or of uniformity of effects, but which has 
a faculty of producing different effects, or, at least, so 
far adapting itself to circumstances, that, from the fact 
that It has once exerted its causative power, and pro- 
duced an effect, it may, by a subsequent exertion, pro- 
duce a different effect. This freedom must be an at- 
tribute of the Infinite Intelligence, and " uniformity of 
cause and effect " in regard to It, means nothing more 
than the uniform modes of willing, or the modes which 
It voluntarily adopts for Its own government ; which is 
but an expression of Its freedom ; for this is controlling 
Its own action ; and that It does this in conformity to a 
law of Its own creation, or which It voluntarily adopts, 
cannot lessen tliis freedom. 

With regard to tlie finite mind, experience indicates 
that, after having, under any given circumstances, acted 
in one way, it may, on a recurrence of them, elect, and 
frequently does elect, to try another Avay ; the fact 
that it has already tried one way with certain effects, 
having, by increasing its knowdedge, led to a belief 
that some other way may be productive of more desira- 
ble effects, or, at least, again add to its knowledge by 
practical experience in the new mode. It is enabled to 
design or conceive these new modes of action, to ex- 
amine and judge of their expediency, and to execute 
them in virtue of its being intelligent, originating 
cause, with a faculty of adapting its action to its view 
of the circumstances in which it is placed, and by 
which it is surrounded, which itself only can do. 

It may be said, that this change in the view, or 



CAUSE AND EI'FECT. 373 

knowledge and want of the mind, makes it, in fact, a 
different cause. This is merely a question of identity, 
which it is useless now to discuss, further than to say 
that, if it be the same cause, producing different effects, 
it disproves the rule ; and if it be a different cause, it 
cannot logically be inferred from different causes pro- 
ducing different effects, that the same causes must pro- 
duce the same effects. I may, however, further ob- 
serve, that this difference in the mind's knowledge in 
the second case, grows directly out of its experience in 
the first ; and if, as a consequence of intelligent cause 
or causes having once acted, their recurring action may 
be different, the rule as to them becomes a nullity ; for 
there is then no necessity that the subsequent action of 
the same causes shall jDroduce the same effect as they did 
when they first acted. If it be said, in asserting this 
necessary uniformity, the phrase "same causes" in- 
cludes not only the efficient, or active power, but all 
the co-existing objects and circumstances having any 
relation whatever to the action of this power, still the 
rule can then never have any application to intelligent 
beings acting as cause, for in mind the same circum- 
stances cannot thus occur twic(3, because, to it, the fact 
of having occurred a first time, itself njakes a differ- 
ence in the second. It varies the knowledge, which is 
one of its essential elements as cause. The nearest aj)- 
proach to it is when the mind has forgotten that they 
have before occurred. In such cases we determine as 
if they never had before occurred, and the common ex- 
perience is that we sometimes realize afterward that, 
from not recalling their previous occurrence, we, in the 
second case, acted differently without being aware of 
it, and when, but for this forgetting, we probably 
would have repeated the first action. 



374 KEVIEW OF KOWAEDS OX TIIK WILL. 

This cause and effect, as used bj Edwards, involves 
tlie infinite series, wiiich lie so often introduces into 
liis arguments. If the same causes necessarily produce 
the same effects, and everything which begins to be 
must have a cause, then this new event, this beginning 
to be, nmst arise from some change in the operating 
causes, otherwise no new effect could be produced ; 
but this change in the operating causes is an event 
which must also have a cause, and which, in its begin- 
ning, must have arisen from some change in the operat- 
ing cause of it, which change, again, must have had a 
cause ; and so we have a series, which can have no be- 
ginning unless there was either an event without a 
cause, or a different effect from the same unchanged 
cause. If, to avoid this dilenima, we suppose the series 
traced back to a necessary self-existent cause, which 
had no beginning, it may be replied, that such cause, 
existing from eternity, if acting from necessity, must, 
of necessity, have produced its proper effect an eternity 
ago, and could produce no other and new effect, except 
by some subsequent changes in itself, which it would 
have no power to produce ; for this would be a different 
effect of the same cause, and hence, we are compe led to 
infer a cause which has either the power of changing it- 
self as cause, or of varying its effects while it remains 
the same cause. It may be said that, before this cause 
produces a different effect, it changes itself, either by 
direct action, or by producing an effect, which reacts 
and becomes cause of change in its own cause ; but 
even then, as the changed cause would be a different 
cause, one, as before observed, could not argue from 
different causes producing different effects that the 
same causes must produce the same effects ; and, even 



CAUSE AND EFFECT. 375 

if we could, if the creative and created cause act only 
from necessity, all tlieir effects must be coexistent with 
their existence, and all their causative power be in- 
stantaneously exhausted ; so that, to continue effects in 
time, there must be some cause which does not, of 
necessity^ produce only one particular effect, but can 
delay action, and when it does act can produce different 
effects. 

We have no reason, then, either from experience 
or from the nature of things, to suppose that any such 
law of uniformity is applicable to spirit causes, but, on 
the contrary, as ah-eady stated, actual existences, or 
changes in them, at least, in our own sensations, prove 
that there is now, or must have been some cause, which 
did not of necessity produce the same effect ; and the 
existence of such a cause, either in the past or present, 
would disprove the rule of necessary uniformity. 

I have endeavored to show that we have such causes 
in intelligent beings, — infinite and finite — with origi- 
nating, creative power ; causes, which, from the very 
fact of having already produced one effect, are better 
prepared to go on to produce other and different effects, 
and that, but for this versatility, only one effect ever 
could have been produced. 

An effect cannot be till its cause exists ; but it does 
not follow that cause must be hefore its effect. That 
which may become cause may, and, as in the case of 
intelligent being, generally does exist, before by activi- 
ty it becomes cause. If matter exists in a state of rest, 
it too must have activity, motion, imparted to it before 
it becomes cause. At the same instant, however, that 
a sufficient cause begins to act, its effect must also begin 
to be, and if that which may be cause, or in which 



376 REVIEW OF EDWAKDS ON THE WILL. 

power may be said to subsist, begins to act at the in- 
stant in which it comes into existence, its effect must be 
simultaneous with its existence ; foi', as before observed, 
if the effect can be delayed one instant, it may anotlier, 
and another, and so may never be, which is to say 
that the sufficient canse is not a sufficient cause. As 
used in my argument, however, it is only essential to 
predicate this co-existence of effect with a necessary 
cause. 

If we suppose matter, in tlie first instance, to have 
been quiescent, then all c-hanges in it must be traceable 
to an intelligent will ; and, if we suppose matter to 
have been in motion from eternity, and, as a conse- 
quence, to have been producing, in a certain order of 
succession, snch necessary effects as arise from the im- 
possibility of two bodies occupying the same space ; or, 
which is tlie same thing, of one space being two spaces ; 
then, all changes from tliis certain order must, also, be 
referred to an intelligent will. 

In tracing the connection we are but tracing the 
last effect back to an intelligent canse — in most in- 
stances to the will of God as a first cause. We cannot 
often, if ever, tell how many tei'ms there may be in the 
series. For aught we know, gravitation may be the 
immediate will of God, acting in conformity to a uni 
form law, which He has voluntarily adopted, and which 
we have ascertained, wliile the changes in the weather 
may be immediately determined by His will, acting 
either without nniformity, or in conformity to some 
law which we have not ascertained. 

The present conditions may be different from any 
which ever before existed, and hence different from any 
which ever before attended or preceded either a clear 



CAUSE AND EFFECT. 377 

or a cloudy sky, and yet eitlier a clear or a cloud )- sky 
will attend or follow them. 

Some of these things may have been made not 
nniform to vary the problems of life, and develop the 
finite intelligence in their solution, as the concealment 
of his plans, by one player at chess, makes a necessity 
for moi'e thought, care and vigilance in the other, to 
provide for an unascertained amount of variability in 
his move. It is true, that the same intention might be 
fulfilled by concealing the law ; but greater variety in 
the problems is obtained by using both means, stimu- 
lating the human intellect to discover the law and thus 
get power to foreknow events arising under it ; and, 
also, forever tasking it to provide for certain contingen- 
cies, which it never can thus learn certainly to an- 
ticipate. 

There is no more difficulty in supposing the finite 
intelligence to be a first, or originating cause of change 
in its finite sphere of action, than in supposing the Su- 
preme Intelligence to be first cause in the sphere of the 
Infinite. Intelligence, in all degrees, may possess the 
faculty of adapting itself to that change of circumstan- 
ces, which itself has produced by causing an efi:'ect, and 
go on to produce another and difi'erent effect ; and this 
entirely destroys the rule of necessary uniformity of 
cause and eft'ect as applicable to intelligent cause ; for, 
if such cause, in consequence of having produced one 
eft'ect, may, from that very circumstance, produce a 
different effect, no case can possibly arise in which the 
same intelligent cause must produce the same effect. 

Without such power of adaptation to the changes 
which itself has wrought, the First Intelligent Cause 
must forever have thought the same thought, or per- 



378 REVIEW OF EDWAEDS ON THE WILL. 

formed the same action over and over ; and, if the 
effect of that action was the creation of a finite intelli- 
gence with one or more thoughts, then, every other 
effect must also have heen the creation of a finite intel- 
ligence, like the first, with only the same thouglit. 
But, if it be a characteristic of intelligence that, through 
its constitutional want for activity, or more directly, its 
want for knowledge and its intuitive knowledge of the 
means of acquiring it, one idea is but the pi-ecursor of 
another and different idea, and that these ideas, singly 
or accumulated, are the means by which the mind 
adapts its action to the want, both thoughts and muscu- 
lar movements, internal and external action, may he 
varied without any other efiective cause_than the intel- 
ligence itself, which wants, thinks and acts, and which 
is thus, in itself, a creative first cause. 

I have already alluded to the fact, that this uni- 
formity of the action of Supreme Intelligence, as ob- 
served in many cases, may arise in part from the perfect 
wisdom by which it determines its acts without the 
necessity of experiment. The same remark applies in 
some degree to the action of the finite will, Avliich, with 
finite wisdom, knowing, or ascertaining by experience, 
or otherwise, the best modes in certain cases, will adopt 
them, whenever such cases arise ; and this gives some 
appearance of reason for the application of the law of 
uniformity and necessity in cause and effect to mind. 

It appears then, that a certain uniformity of tlie 
effect of intelligent action, on which the argument for 
necessity is based, is, or at least may be caused by the 
free action of intelligence, infinite or finite ; and, there- 
fore, from the existence of such uniformity, it cannot be 
inferred that no such free action exists. Tlie existence 



CAUSE AND KFFECT. 379 

of an effect cannot be a reason against the existence of 
that which may be its cause. This uniformity could 
not have produced itself, nor could it have been pro- 
duced by blind, undesigning forces, except in cases when 
some effect must be, and only one effect is possible ; 
i. e., when non- effect and also any other than one par- 
ticular effect involve a contradiction.* We must i-efer 
this uniformity, in all other cases, to the action of intel- 
ligence, and to infer from it necessity in the action of 
intelligence is to make the effect necessitate its own 
cause. 

If the action of the mind is the cause of the volition, 
then, as before observed, that the volition, as an effect 
of such action, is necessary, does not prove that the 
ause — the action of the mind — is necessary, but only 
proves an infallible power in mind, as such cause, to 
determine its volitions. 

But there may be another reason for this uniformity 
in the mode of God's action, for, as the finite mind acts 
more or less through Hi-s modes, or is influenced in its 
action by what it presumes His action under certain cir- 
cumstances will be, this uniformity of action in Him is 
essential to the action of finite intelligence — to the exist- 
ence of finite free agents — for, without this uniformity 
in God's action, a finite agent could have no knowledge 
as to what would be the effect of his effort, and would 
have no inducement to make any effort. If, for in- 
stance, an effort to move a heavy body one way was 
just as likely to move it in a way not intended and 
counter to the want of the agent, the effort would never 
be made. 

We caimot conceive that the Supreme Intelligence 

* See Appendix, Note XLVI. 



380 REVIEW OF EDWARDS ON THE WILL. 

acts, except from a want of change of some kind — a 
desire for variety — and tliis desire, of itself, would seem 
to be best gratified or accomplislied by making every 
act a new variety, I'ather than in conformity to some 
previous act. That God has not done so, but, in many 
cases, adopted the rule of uniformity of action, seems to 
indicate a design, which was incompatible with the 
variety just suggested, and which is not only consistent 
with, but necessary to, the existence of finite agents 
freely exercising the finite creative power of will ; and 
in this uniformity, then, instead of the argument which 
Edwards deduces from it in favor of necessity, we have 
an argument from final causes in favor of the freedom 
of the finite mind in ifs acting or willing. 

Before closing this chapter, I will notice an argu- 
ment derived from the supposed law of uniformity iu 
cause and effect, in connectiou with the influence of cir- 
cumstances, which has been thus stated. 

If the same circumstances occur a thousand times, 
and the state of the mind is the same, its action will be 
the same, and hence, necessary under the circum- 
stances. 

This is but a particular application of the general 
rule, that the same causes necessarily produce the same 
eff"ects ; which, we have already shown, is not a law of 
metaphysical necessity, and that there is no reason to 
presume that it applies to mind. The fact that all the 
circumstances have before occurred, including the con- 
dition of the mind, is involved in the statement; and 
this fact making itself an alteration in the repetition 
of them, the mind may, from that circumstance, elect 
to vary its action. If so, as before sliowu, this desi^''»''8 
the rule, and the inference which is based upon it- 



CAUSE AND EFFKCT. 381 

But admit, foi' the sake of the argument, that this 
law does apply to mind, and further, that in every one 
of the thousand cases, one of the conditions of tlie mind 
is that of necessity j then, the same causes necessarily 
producing the same effects, the action of the mind is the 
same. Again, suppose that, in every one of the thou- 
sand cases, the condition of the mind is that oi freedom / 
then, under the same law of the uniformity of causes 
and effects, the action of the mind would still be the 
same in each of these thousand cases ; and, as we may 
thus change this condition of the mind from necessity 
to freedom, w^ithout changing the result, the result can- 
not possibly indicate w^hich of the two elements was 
involved ; or, in other words, admitting the fact and the 
application of the law, it applies just as well to mind 
controlling and directing its own volitions, as to mind, 
in which the volitions are controlled and directed by 
some external power. If, in every one of the thousand 
cases, the action of the mind is the same, it can, so far 
as this case is concerned, just as well be so because it 
acts freely as because it acts from necessity ; and hence, 
even admitting the law on wliich the argument is 
wholly based, and that it does apply to mind, it has no 
force whatever, and cannot even indicate whether, in 
each of the thousand cases, the condition of the mind's 
action is that of necessity or freedom. 

Admitting that, in every one of the thousand cases, 
the mind, even by preliminary effort, or by immediate 
perception, comes to the same conclusion as to what to 
do — that, the truth being palpable, it cannot but per- 
ceive it — still this perception is not tlie act of will, but 
knowledge preparatory to it ; and if, with this conclu- 
sion or knowledge as to what to do, it were found try- 



382 REVIEW or edwaeds on the will. 

ing to do something else, tliis would indicate tliat the 
miud was not free, but constrained by some extrinsic 
power ; while, on the other hand, its trying to do that 
which is in conformity with its knowledge indicates self- 
direction of its power and consequently freedom in the 
effort or act of will. It would be a strange and contra- 
dictory idea of freedom, which would require, for its 
realization, that a man might try to do what he de- 
cided not to do, and might not try to do that which 
he decided to do, and thus act contrary to his own 
views. 

The fallacy of the argument from the " thousand 
cases " lies in supposing that, after the mind has, by a 
decision or judgment, directed its volition or effort, 
freedom still requires that some other volition or effort 
should be possible ; which, were it so, would really show 
that the mind might not be free ; that is, that it might 
not direct its own action. The assertion " if the same 
circumstances occur a thousand times," &c., must in- 
clude all the circumstances ; if we stop short of the 
knowledge or final decision of the mind as to its own 
action, the rule will be found to have no application, or 
to be untrue ; and, admitting the assertion, it then 
really shows only that the Mnlling by the mind is al- 
ways in conformity to its own decision or knowledge as 
to what to do. If there is, of necessity^ a connection 
between this decision and effort, this only proves that 
the mind is of necessity tree in such effort ; and to 
assert the contrary, is again like saying that freedom is 
not free because it is of necessity free. 

This view brings the argument home to our defini- 
tion of freedom, as that condition in which a being 
directs its own action or movement ; while that argu- 



CAUSE AND EFFECT. 383 

ment, wliich, from this necessit}'- of connection between 
the decision and the volition of a being, would infer 
necessity, mnst assume that freedom requires that a 
being nuij act counter to itself — to its own directing 
power. 



CHAPTEE XII. 

god's foreknowledge. 

Anothek argument of Edwards is, that the acts of 
the will are necessary because God certainly foreknows 
them ; and that, what is foreknown by Omniscience 
must as certainly happen as though it were decreed by 
Omnipotence, and, therefore, such acts cannot be free. 
Against this it has been contended that, even though 
God foreknows every event, such prescience does not 
cause that event, or control the act of will which is 
foreknown. It may be asserted, with some show of 
reason, that freedom of the human will is one of tlie 
elements of God's foreknowledge ; that He knows that 
such or such an event will happen, because it depends 
on the foreseen free action of some being, witliout 
which it would not happen. On this I would remark, 
that it does not fulfil the intention of those who urge 
it. It does not avoid the practical diificulties of 
fatalism. 

A man with this belief might say : " I need not 
trouble myself with regard to the future. Everything 
in that future, even my own agency upon it, is already 
as certainly determined as the past. 'No efi'ort of mine 



god's fokeknowledge, 385 

can change it ; or, if effort or volition of mine is to 
change it, that effort, that volition, will inevitably take 
place, and no care or thought of mine will prevent it." 
The position still admits that necessity which it is in- 
tended to exclude. With such belief he would make no 
effort. When a man wills he always intends, as already 
shown, to produce some effect in the future, to produce 
some change, or to make that future — internal or exter- 
nal — in some respects different from what it would be 
without such effort. But, if the fact is that no effort of 
his can in any way change that future, and he knows 
it, he will not will at all, freely or otherwise. As just 
suggested, it may be said that his free act of will is 
itself one of the events infallibly foreknown, and hence 
must happen. This, it will be perceived, in the last 
analysis, involves the contradiction of supposing a free 
will to be a necessitated will, so that the position as- 
sumed, even if it would obviate the difficulty, is unten- 
able, and cannot be urged by the advocates of freedom 
against this argument for necessity. An event fore- 
known by infallible prescience must be as certain in the 
future, as if known by infallible memory in the past, 
and to say that God foreknows an event, which depends 
upon the action of an agent, which, acting without His 
control, may, of itself, freely and independently produce 
any one of several different results, or none at all, in- 
volves a contradiction. I am disposed to yield to the 
argument of Edwards all the benefit of any doubt on 
these points, and, waiving any replication which might 
be founded on the power of God to influence the future 
free action of a finite agent by imparting or withlmld- 
ing knowledge, to admit that what is certainly fore- 
known by Omniscience must certainly happen, and 
17 



386 KEVIEW OF EDWAEDS ON THE WILL. 

that, if God foreknows the volitions of men, then they 
cannot will freely, and for a refutation of his argument 
for necessity, founded on prescience, rely only upon 
other considerations.* 

One essential link in his argument is that, God does 
foreknow all the future, and, especially, all human voli- 
tions ; and this Edwards attempts to prove by showing 
that such knowledge is absolutely necessary to God's 
proper government of the world. On the point that 
God does foreknow, I would remark that, as in regard 
to the argament from cause and effect, it appeared that 
God, having the power to produce infinite variety, had 
yet chosen to lessen that variety by establishing a cer- 
tain uniformity between antecedents and consequents, 
and that the apparent object of this was to make the 
existence of finite free agents possible ; so, also, though 
God, having i\\e power to deterTnine, could foreknow all 
events. He may forego the exercise of such power, and 
neither control nor foreknow the particular events, which 
are thus left to be determined by the action of the 
human mind. That God may certainly foreknow any 
event, which He has the power to bring to pass, will 
not, however, militate against the argument in favor of 
freedom ; for, if God, by the direct exercise of His 
power, produces a volition, it is not the volition of any 
other being than Himself; and if He indirectly influ- 
ences the volition by changing the knowledge of a 
being, then this change of knowledge avails only on 
the hypothesis that this hevag freely conforms its action 
to its knowledge. If a being does not will freely, there 
is no reason to suppose that any inducements to a cer- 
tain act will avail to produce that act any more than 
* See Appendix, Note XLVII. 



god's foreknowledge. 387 

the contrary. But, as we have already suggested, even 
supposing God to have this power over every future 
event, and tliat either directly or indirectly He can con- 
trol every volition, and deny freedom to every other 
being, He may forego tlie exercise of such poM-er, and 
thus make the existence of finite free agents possible. 

This is not only conceivable, but we are conscious 
of having and of exercising such power ourselves — that 
we can refrain from doing and from knowing what we 
might do and know, in order that another may act 
freely. For instance, a child is in a room with two doors 
to it. I know tiiat, by using my superior strength, 1 
can put the child out of the room by a certain one of 
them, and hence, may foreknow that the child will go 
out by that door ; but I decide not to nse my strength 
for that purpose, and leave the child to its own free 
action — to go out by either door, or to remain in the 
room. I may alter the circumstances, as, for instance, 
by placing some attractive object just without one of 
the doors in the view of the child, and thus make it 
probable that the child will leave by that door ; and 
this probability is founded on the presumption that the 
child, with the knowledge of this attractive object, will 
want to move to that object and freely will to do so. 
I may, however, will not to exert any influence — not to 
change the circumstances, or increase the knowledge of 
the child — but leave it by its own knowledge freely to 
determine what to do. In this case I do not even seek 
to change its final action by imparting knowledge. 

Edwards argues that God must foreknow the voli- 
tions of finite moral agents, for, othei-wise. His knowl- 
edge of the future would become so impeiiect that He 
could not govern the universe. Pie says : 



388 KEVIEW OF EDWARDS ON THE WILL. 

" So that, according to this notion of God's not fore- 
seeing the volitions and free actions of men, God could 
foresee nothing appertaining to tlie state of the world 
of mankind in future ages ; not so much as the being of 
one person that should live in it ; and could foreknow 
no events, but only such as He would bring to pass Him- 
self by the extraordinary interposition of His immediate 
power ; or things which should come to pass in the nat- 
ural material world, by the laws of motion and course 
of nature, wherein that is independent on the actions, or 
works of mankind ; that is, as He might, like a very 
able mathematician and astronomer, with great exact- 
ness, calculate the revolutions of the heavenly bodies 
and the greater wheels of the machine of the external 
creation, 

" And if we closely consider tlie matter, there w^ill 
appear reason to convince us, that He could not, with 
any absolute certainty, foresee even tliese. As to the 
firsts namely, things clone by the immediate and extra- 
ordinary interposition of God's power, these cannot be 
foreseen, unless it can be foreseen when there shall be 
occasion for such extraordinary interposition. And 
that cannot be foreseen unless the state of the moral 
world can be foreseen. For whenever God thus inter- 
poses, it is with regard to the state of the moral world, 
requiring such divine interposition. Thus, God could 
not certainly foresee the universal deluge, the calling 
of Abraham, the destruction of Sodom and Gomorrah, 
the plagues on Egypt and Israel's redemption out of it, 
the expelling the seven nations of Canaan, and the 
bringing Israel into that land ; for these all are repre- 
sented as connected with things belonging to the state 
of the moral world. Nor can God foreknow the most 



god's fokeknowledge. 389 

proper and convenient time of the day of judgment and 
general conflagration ; for that chiefly depends on the 
course and state of things in the moral world " (pp. 
144-5). 

" It will also follow from this notion that, as God xS 
liable to be continually repenting what He has done ; so 
He must be exposed to be constantly changing His mind 
and intentions as to His future conduct ; altering His 
measures, relinquishing His old designs, and forming 
new schemes and projections. For His purposes, even 
as to the main parts of His scheme, namely, such as 
belong to the state of His moral kingdom, must be 
always liable to be broken, through want of foresight ; 
and He must be continually putting His system to 
rights, as it gets out of order through the contingence 
of the actions of moral agents. He nmst be a Being, 
who, instead of being absolutely immutable, must neces- 
sarily be the subject of infinitely the most numerous 
acts of repentance and changes of intention of any 
being whatsoever; for this plain reason, that His vastly 
extensive charge comprehends an infinitely greater 
number of those things, which are to Him contingent 
and uncertain. In such a situation. He must have little 
else to do, but to mend broken links as well as He can, 
and be rectifying His disjointed frame and disordered 
movements, in the best manner the ca*e will allow. 
The Supreme Lord of all things must needs be under 
great and miserable disadvantages, in governing the 
world, which He has made, and has the care of, through 
His being utterly unable to find out things of chief 
importance, which hereafter shall befall His system ; 
which, if He did but know. He might make seasonable 
provision for. In many cases, there may be veiy great 



390 REVIEW OF EDWARDS ON THE WILL. 

necessity that He should make provision, in the man 
ner of His ordering and disposing things, for some great 
events which are to happen, of vast and extensive influ- 
ence, and endless consequence to the universe ; which 
He may see afterward when it is too late, and may wish 
in vain that He had known beforehand, that He might 
have ordered His affairs accordingly. And it is in the 
power of man, on these principles, by his devices, pur- 
poses, and actions, thus to disappoint God, break His 
measures, make Him continually to change His mind, 
subject Him to vexation and bring Him into confusion " 
(pp. 149-50). 

We might, perhaps, argue that these statements 
rather tend to show that God does not foreknow the 
volitions and actions of men, or, at least, that if He 
does, He generally chooses not to interfere with them, 
but, for long periods of time, leaves them to their own 
free actions ; for it does appear from the record, that 
" it is in the power of man * -^ * by his devices, 
purposes, and actions, thus to disappoint God, break 
His measures, and make Him continually to change 
His mind," and that He does not " make seasonable 
provision " to prevent the necessity of His " rectifying 
His disjointed frame and disordered movements," as 
evinced in the necessity of a general destruction by the 
flood to get rid of a corruption which liad arisen from 
agencies which He did not control, and wliich, a resort 
to such a measure by Omnipotence would seem to 
argue, could not possibly be directly controlled by ex- 
trinsic power. We propose, however, to discuss the 
question on philosophical and not on theological ground, 
and to treat inferences from Biblical quotations as we 
w^ould deductions or illustrations frjm any other state- 
ment of fact or- belief. 



god's foreknowledge. 391 

The foregoing reasoning of Edwards asserts, that it 
is necessary that God should foreknow the volitions of 
men, because of the influence of those volitions on the 
affairs of the world. But, it is evident that the sup- 
posed difficulty relates less to the volitions than to the 
effects, or actual doings in which the volitions are ex- 
ecuted ; and, if the foreknowledge of a volition is thus 
necessary, the foreknowledge of the sequent effects 
must, " a fortiori," be, also, necessary ; and if the fore- 
knowledge of the volition proves it to be not free, the 
foreknowledge of the doing must prove it not free, and 
this would take from man the liberty which Edwards 
grants him, in doing wliat he wills. If to this it be re- 
plied that, if the volition is controlled, there is no ne- 
cessity for controlling the consequent effect, or doing, 
for the volition itself controls it ; it would still appear 
that there is no liberty in the sequent doing, for the 
reply asserts, that it is controlled by the will, which is, 
also, controlled, and, of course, whatever controls the 
will, also controls the doing ; so that, if there is no 
liberty in willing, there can really be none in the conse- 
quent doing, and all human liberty is denied. 

But, even supposing there may be freedom in doing 
what we will, when thei-e is no freedom in willing, the 
foregoing difficulty, in respect to God's government, as 
Edwards states it, is equally obviated, either by suppos- 
ing that God controls the volition and constrains it to 
be in conformity to His preordained plan ; or that, 
leaving man to will freely, He frustrates the execution 
— the doing — making the result different from what 
the agent willing intended, whenever that intention 
conflicts with that foreordained plan. Of these two 
positions, it seems most reasonable to adopt the latter, 



392 REVIEW OF EDWARDS ON THE WILL. 

as it is a fact, well attested bj our daily experience, 
that in the doing we are often thus frustrated and over- 
ruled, while our consciousness reveals no such inter- 
ference with our willing to do. For auglit that appears, 
the sequences of the volitions may be determined in 
that inscrutable process, by which our volitions are 
made efficient, and of which, Edwards truly says, we 
know nothing. Giving to the argument, then, all the 
scope which Edwards assigns to it, it disproves the free- 
dom in doing^ which he asserts, rather than the freedom 
in willing, which he denies. But, perhaps, the urgencies 
of the argument do not require that even the freedom 
in doing should be abandoned ; and, even supposing 
man's volitions to be always executed, I still think that 
Edwards overrates their influence on the ability of 
God to conti'ol and dii'ect the universe and its afi'airs. 
The child's remaining in the room, or going out of it by 
one door, or the other, does not materially afi'ect that 
knowledge by which I judge of what I shall do in rela- 
tion to the future. Knowing all the results possible in 
the case, viz., that the child will remain in the room, 
or go out by one door, or by the other, I may use what 
wisdom I have, in so ordering my own actions, as to 
insure the most good, or the least possible evil from 
their combination with any one of the three possible 
contingent events. Now, the acts of any finite number 
of finite free agents, must bear a less ratio to the power 
and wisdom of the Supreme Intelligence, than the act 
of the child does to even the most wise and powerful of 
finite intelligences, and as God may know all the acts 
or efiects possible by such finite intelligences, singly or 
combined. He may, in His infinite M'isdora, provide for 
every possible event which to Him, either by the neces- 



god's foreknowledge. 393 

«ities of the case, or by His own free will, is thus made 
contingent. Of an arrangement so vast, it is difficult 
for us to form a conception to reason upon, and I will, 
therefore, endeavor to illustrate the views just expressed 
by supposiDg a case, which, though perfectly conceiv- 
able, is beyond the reach of any human calculation, and 
beyond any human power. 

Suppose, then, a chessboard — an automaton chess- 
board — in which eacli piece differing in functions, or 
color, has a different weight, and that each square is 
separately supported by a spring, so that the different 
weights will depress each to a different point. If we 
suppose any one given position of the pieces, it is con- 
ceivable that the different degrees of depression may 
act upon machinery devised for the purpose (say ma- 
chinery moved by a weight like a clock), so that the 
best move which the position admits of will be made ; 
and though, even for one movement, it would require 
very complicated machinery, there is nothing inconceiv- 
able or impossible in it ; and, as this is conceivable of 
any one combination of the pieces, it is conceivable that 
it may be applied to every possible combination. Sup- 
pose then, such a cliessboard, the moves, on one side, 
made by the automatic machinery, and on the other by 
an intelligent finite free agent. We will suppose there 
is nothing else in existence but the board so constructed 
— (of course, with whatever is requisite to sustain at- 
traction, gravitative and cohesive), — and this free agent 
playing the other side of the game. The agent moves 
freely ; what particular move he would make, the mech- 
anist who devised the machine did not and could not 
anticipate, but knowing every possible move which the 
position admitted of, he has devised the macliine in refer- 
17* 



394 KEVIEW OF EDWARDS ON THE WILL. 

ence to every such possible move ; and though no pHrtio 
ular move is foreknown, yet, if the mechanist, with full 
knowledge of every possible combination, has so con- 
trived the machine, that in its turn the best possible move 
will be made, the result, supposing the mechanist to have 
his choice in regard to the first move, will certainly be 
checkmate to the agent, who moves freely, but without 
this comprehensive knowledge of the whole possibilities 
of the game. And to effect this result does not require 
any departure from uniform modes of action^ but, on 
the contrar}^, is produced by the intelligent application 
of one of the Tnost uniform of what we term laws of 
matter, — that of attraction. The attraction of gravita- 
tion, acting through the weight attached to the ma- 
chinery, imparts the force to move the pieces, and 
through the difference in the weights and the conse- 
quent unequal depression of the squares by the pieces 
on them, giving direction to that force ; while the 
attraction of cohesion gives the requisite resistance to 
the springs which support the squares. The combina- 
tions on the chessboard, though vast in number, are 
finite, and may all be comprehended by a finite intelli- 
gence. Though no hum.an being could in a lifetime 
accomplish any large part of the calculations and work- 
manship essential to such a machine as we have de- 
scribed, still, power and intelligence short of the infinite 
could accomplish it ; and, if a mechanist of finite pow- 
ers could, by modes as uniform as the laws of attrac- 
tion, thus cause to be made all the moves essential to 
the skilful playing of this complicated game, and that, 
too, without being able to anticipate a single move on 
the other side, there can be nothing unreasonable in 
supposing that God, with a perfect knowledge of all the 



god's foreknowledge. 395 

possible combinations and changes, which His own sys- 
tem will admit of, including all the possible effects of 
the action of finite free agents, may, without knowing 
by anticipation the particular acts of those finite agents, 
so contrive His uniform modes of action, that, without 
varying from such uniformity, every possible contin- 
gence will be provided for, " without altering His meas- 
ures, relinquisldng His old designs and forming new 
schemes and projections." If it be true, or even con- 
ceivable, that man, with his finite powers and limited 
knowledge of the future acts of God and of his fellow 
beings, which does not include all possible acts, can 
yet, in his finite sphere, with finite wisdom, adapt his 
acts with some degree of effectiveness to that future, it 
is certainly conceivable, that God, with His infinite 
powers and full knowledge of all that is possible from 
other causes in the future, may, with infinite wisdom, 
adapt His acts to all the jpossihilities of that future, so 
that He will not be liable to be " frustrated of His 
end." 

We have explained how this may be done consist- 
ently with unitbrmity in His modes of action, but He 
has still in resei've the power of deviating from that 
uniformity, in miracles, and it appears that the acts of 
men, in the exercise of their free agency, became so 
generally perverse and corrupt, that Supreme Wisdom 
demanded their almost total extinction, and a special 
act or miraculous interference for that end. Besides 
miracles, which are deviations from the established uni- 
form modes of God's action, we do not know but that 
many things are the result of His special actions in 
regard to which He has established no law of uniformity. 
We do not know that these things are not dependent, 



396 KEVIEW OF EDWARDS ON THE WILL. 

in eacli case, on His immediate will, without reference 
to any conformity with acts performed in the past, or 
contemplated in the future. We do not know but that 
the storm, which destroyed the Spanish Armada — the 
winds, which delayed the landing of William of 
Orange — or the unusually eai'ly commencement of 
cold weather, which frustrated the plans of Napoleon 
and destroyed his army in Russia, were all as much 
special acts as the miraculous opening of the w^aters of 
the Red Sea, which favored the escape of the Israelites 
from Egyptian bondage. With these ample means 
thei^e would seem to be no danger that God, with in- 
finite power and wisdom, could be " frustrated of His 
end," or, that He would not be able, even without fore- 
knowledge of the particular acts of finite free agents, to 
bring to pass all that He might deem essential to the 
proper government of the universe, and to such care 
or control as He chooses to take of all that He has cre- 
ated.* We will add that the necessity of knowing 
events in advance, in order to " make seasonable pro- 
vision for them," arises from the weakness of the agent 
on whom the making of such provision devolves, and 
the time required will be somewhat and inversely pro- 
portioned to the power and wisdom of the agent. 
When that power and wisdom become infinite, the 
time required becomes nought, and God would there- 
fore require less time to consider the most intricate and 
complicated affairs conceivable, than we would to de- 
termine the simplest possible case that could be pre- 
sented to us. 

The foreknowledge of God has the same relation to 
His action, that the preconceptions of man have to his. 

* Sec Appendix, Note XLVIII. 



god's foreknowlkdge. S9T 

God perceives what, without His own effort, the course 
of things in the future may be, and by what effort he 
can change that course. A finite being may exert all 
his ability to know the future, and may also exert all 
his power to infiuencje the course of events, and thus 
increase the probability that the future will conform to 
his anticipations : or he may, as in the case of tlie 
child just mentioned, forego the exercise of his own 
power that another may act freely. There is certainly 
no impossibility that God may do the same. A being 
of limited powers may know all the effects bearing 
upon his future action, which such single or combined 
efforts can produce, even if the modes in which they 
can be produced are infinite, and hence beyond his 
prescience. For instance, the ways in which a friend 
may reach a place at which I am to meet him at a 
given time, may be infinite in number, and yet, the 
fact that he does reach the place at the appointed time, 
be all that is material to my plan of fature action. In 
certain states of a game of chess, a man can foresee 
every possible move, which his antagonist may next 
make, that can affect the result of the game, and make 
his own plans accordingly. A man of ordinary skill 
and discernment may, sometimes, do this even for each 
of a few moves in advance, and, if he had sufficient 
capacity, he could do it for the whole game. To one 
who did this, the game would lose its interest, and he 
would play it only as a benevolent man plays the sim- 
ple game of Fox and Geese with a child for its amuse- 
ment. 

Suppose, for instance, that at the commencement of 
the game, one player, A, having the requisite capacity, 
perceives that his antagonist, B, has his choice of the 



898 REVIEW OF EDWARDS ON THE WILL. 

twenty different moves. A may plan his play so that 
he will be ready to move in any one of the twenty 
cases which can arise, and B, at the commencement, if 
looking forward, and providing in advance for the 
whole game, must, for his second move, take into view 
the four hundred possible contingencies growing out of 
the two moves to be previously made ; and the number 
of possible combinations in a game of ordinary length 
would be almost innumerable. But even to provide in 
advance for all these, though far beyond the reach of 
human faculties, would still be within the scope of even 
a finite comprehension ; and when we contemplate the 
Su]3reme Intelligence, as anticipating and providing, or 
making immediate provision as they occur, for all the 
possible contingencies which can arise from the free 
volitions of myriads of free agents, and all tlieir com- 
binations ; although we know that, being still finite in 
number, they cannot exhaust tlie power, or fill the com- 
prehension, which is infinite ; yet, we may perceive 
that they may furnish ample occasion for the effort — • 
that they may call out the energies of a being, capable 
of producing all the sublimely vast and minutely per- 
fect combinations, which creative power has exhibited 
to us ; and, perhaps, can hardly avoid the thought that 
they must, even in such a being, excite that interest, 
which arises from the necessity of thought, skill, and 
contrivance, to accomplish its object and avoid being 
frustrated by the action of other powers. 

If, on the other hand, God foreknows, and, as an 
attribute of Divinity has ever foreknown all the future, 
then that portion of His creative power which relates 
to designing that future, and which is the highest at- 
tribute of Creative Power, has no sphere for its exer- 



god's foeeknowledge. 399 

cise, and never could have had any ; it is virtually 
annihilated, and God becomes a mere executive causal- 
ity working out plans preformed, and requiring in their 
accomplishment no higher order of intelligence, no more 
exalted creative talent than is required to copy a paint- 
ing. On such hypothesis, indeed, still less than this, 
for, as on it God's own volitions must be foreknown 
and be manifest to Himself, He does not even have by 
a present exercise of intelligent power to adapt his 
efibrt to the effect, as the copyist must do, and this per- 
fect prescience would degrade the Supreme Power to 
the same rank as that of one who turns the crank of a 
mill, knowing that thereby the corn is ground, but also 
knowing each required volition without any present 
effort for that object. A prescience which has always 
included the whole future must be innate, and never 
have been the occasion for any exercise of intelligent 
230wer, wdiich the knowledge required to turn the crank 
may have been. The acting of a being from the knowl- 
edge of a mode which has ever existed ready formed in 
its own mind is purely instinctive, and action merely 
from the innate knowledge of its own volitions and of 
the order of their succession, requiring no exercise of 
intelligence in applying the known mode to the occa- 
sion for it, would be below the ordinary forms of in 
stinctive action. 

It is not my purpose now to follow Edwards in his 
attempt to prove that his system of necessity is consist- 
ent with moral agency, with virtue, and with common 
sense. This, if I have succeeded in showing that his 
arguments in support of that system are fallacious, and 



400 REVIEW OF EDWARDS ON THE WILL. 

that it is in fact untrue, would be needless ; and, if I 
have failed to do this, there would be little ground to 
hope that my examination of the subsequent portions 
of his work would be attended with any better result. 



CHAPTER XIII. 



C ONCLUSION. 



We have now shown that the Will, instead of being 
as defined by Edwards " that by which the mind chooses 
anything," is the mind's faculty or power of making 
effort, and that, in relation to choice, we make effort to 
ascertain which of two or more things is preferable only 
as we do to ascertain any other fact which we want to 
know ; that Edwards also defines choice to be a com- 
parative act, or the result of snch act, and yet makes 
choice and will synonymous. He also makes will the 
last agency of the mind in producing an effect, and as- 
sumes that choice is a necessary prerequisite and the 
distinguishing condition of free acts of will. From 
these various and incompatible definitions of the same 
terms, and these unfounded assumptions, he argues that 
as a free act of will must be preceded by a choice, 
which is itself also an act of will, and hence, if a free 
act, must have also been preceded by a choice, and this 
choice as a free act of will again thus preceded, and so 
on without limit, there could have been no first free act 
of will, and, if the first act was not free, then the whole 
subsequent train is not free. But the foundation of 
this, his favorite reductio ad ahsurdum^ which he ap- 



402 KEVIEW OF EDWARDS ON THE WILL. 

plies in a variety of modes, is wholly destroyed by eor 
recting the defljiitions and assumptions as above stated. 

In regard to this reasoning I have also remarked 
that self-direction, and not choice, is the distinguishing 
characteristic of freedom. The mind thus directs its 
efforts by means of the knowledge which it has at the 
moment it makes the effort, including its preconcep- 
tions of the effect it seeks to produce. Whether this 
knowledge has been acquired by previous efforts of 
comparison resulting in choice, or otherwise, it is, at 
the time of applying it, but the mind's perception, and 
the mode of its prior acquisition can make no difference 
to the freedom of the act which the mind directs by 
means of the knowledge which it now actually possesses. 
I have further observed that this confounding will with 
clioice, which as one form of knowledge is not subject 
to the will, but, as a result of certain comparisons, is as 
necessarily and passively recognized by the knowing 
sense as sound is through the ear, opens the way for the 
argument, that as choice is, in this sense, necessary, will, 
being the same as choice, must also be necessary, and 
this confounding as identical two things so very distinct 
as will and knowledge leads to intricate confusion and 
various sophisms, pervading, as already shown, a large 
poi-tion of Edwards's argument. 

In regard to that somewhat simpler form of his re- 
ductio ad dbsurdum to prove that the will (free or 
not fi-ee) cannot determine itself, because, if it does, it 
must determine each act by a prior act of will, admit- 
ting of no first act, and which, taken in the view most 
favorable for Edwards, only proves that the mind can- 
not always direct its act of will hy a jprior act of will, 
it has already been remarked that this does not conflict 
with the position that the mind determines its act of 



CONCLUSION. 403 

will by means of its knowledge, in wliicli act, being 
thus self-directed, it acts freely. Edwards applies this 
reasoning to choice, evidently, however, here as else- 
where, using it as a synonym for will, and will, with 
him, meaning " the soul willing," his inference really 
is, that the soul wilKng or choosing cannot determine 
its act of will or choice. But it is evident that the 
essence of a choice must be the determining among ob- 
jects of choice, and if the soul cannot do this it cannot 
choose at all, but something else must choose for it. 
From the same position it also follows that as the mind 
cannot will generally^ but can only will particular acts 
which must be determined or decided upon before it 
can will, i. e., make efibrt in regard to them, it cannot 
will until the act of will is elected and determined or 
decided upon, and if the mind cannot make this elec- 
tion it cannot will till some other power has deter- 
mined its act for it, and hence cannot of itself make 
effort or will without this extrinsic aid. 

As bearing on this point I have shown that the 
mind need not and does not will either to will or not 
to will, nor yet to suspend willing, but that it directly 
wills or makes effort to do that which it wants done, 
and remains or becomes 23assive when it has no want or 
perceives no reason to be active, and hence a prior act 
of will is not necessary either to our willing or non- 
willing. This denies the premise on which the argu- 
ments of Edwards just treated of are founded. 

Edwards also assumes that freedom means jpower to 
do as one wills, which, as it can only come after, either 
does not apply to or denies freedom in the act of willing. 
In his Part II. Section 13, he asserts that even if the 
will determines its own act it is not free, because it is 



404 KEVIEW OF EDWARDS ON THE WILL. 

still controlled, whicli, as applied to tlie argument, as 
before intimated, is equivalent to saying, the mind in 
its acts of willing is not free, because in them it must 
control its own action, and hence is constrained, or is 
under a necessity, to be free. I need not repeat the rea- 
soning showing that Edwards's definition of freedom, 
and this assumption that whatever is controlled even 
by itself is not free, in which the above sophisms have 
their root, are wholly erroneous, and that self-control 
or self-direction is the distinguishing characteristic of 
freedom. Correct these errors, and those before men- 
tioned in regard to will, and a large portion of his rea- 
soning becomes either entirely futile or affirms the free- 
dom, not of the will, but of the mind in willing. 

Edwards's remarks upon " moral necessity " only 
tend to show that a njan must will in conformity to his 
inclination ; but, as he makes inclination synonymous 
with choice, preference, and will, this only tends to 
prove that a man must will in conformity to his will : 
or, if he uses this term inclination as designating a 
choice, and a prior choice, as I think would be proper, 
then, the argument proves that these acts of will have 
the condition of previous choice which Edwards as- 
sumes to be the essential condition of free acts ; while 
his remarks on " Moral Inability," going to show that 
there can be no act of will when this inclination is 
wanting, merely tend to prove that there can be no act 
of will without this essential condition of freedom ; the 
two arguments thus going to prove that every act of 
v;ill which is fossible must of necessity be free. 

In regard to the difficulties which Edwards treats 
of in connection with " moral necessity " and " moral 
inability," and which he asserts the will may be unable 



CONCLUSION. 405 

to surmount, I have shown that the faculty of will is 
not in itself limited, but that we can will or make effort 
to do anything which we can conceive any mode of 
doing, and further, that tliese difficulties relate not to 
our willing, but to our obtaining the knowledge by 
which to direct our efforts or decide what we will try 
to do, which, as we are not, and cannot be, omniscient, 
we cannot always acquire. From " Natural Necessity," 
as Edwards treats it, he can only infer that a man can- 
not always execute what he wills, or do what he tries 
to do, which, coming after, cannot affect the freedom 
of the mind's previous act in willing. 

I have also observed, that the existence of difficul- 
ties which the mind in its act of will is unable to sur- 
mount, goes to prove that the mind is the real agent in 
such willing, and that if its volitions are necessitated, it 
could have no difficulty in regard to them : and further, 
that in all the cases cited by Edwards the supposed 
difficulty really is the absence of any want to do^ and 
if it were possible for the mind to overcome this diffi- 
culty, and will what it did not want to will, this would 
rather indicate that it did not act freely, while the im- 
possibility of its doing so proves that in such cases it 
cannot possibly be unfree. 

After having thus sought to prove that the will, or 
the soul in willing, cannot determine its own action 
because of the impossibility of doing it by prior acts of 
will, or because in the attempt it (jucounters difficulties 
which it cannot surmount, Edwards seeks to show that 
it is determined by some extrinsic cause or power. He 
argues that every event which begins to be must have 
a cause, i. 6., as he says, a ground or reason why it is, 
and that this cause must be prior to the event ; that 



406 KEVIEW OF EDWARDS ON THE WILL. 

volition is such an event, and hence must be connected 
with some cause in the past on which its existence de- 
pends, and as the same causes must produce the same 
effects, the volition is determined by this cause to be 
one particular volition and can be no other. Against 
this I have urged that the past cannot will — put forth 
or produce a volition ; that mind has an inherent abil- 
ity to act or make effort, and that this action or effort 
is its volition, of which itself is the cause, and hence 
that the necessary connection of the effect with its 
cause only establishes the mind's power to control its 
volitions, and thus confirms its freedom in willing. 
And further, that the volition is in no wise dependent 
on the j)ast any further than that the mind may have 
acquired knowledge in that past, which knowledge, 
however, is now present to it, and that if, from any 
being having power to act, and in present possession of 
knowledge to direct its action, the past were entirely 
cut off, or even if to such being there never had 
been any past, it could still direct its own action, or 
make effort to affect the future, which is always the de- 
sign of effort, and hence such volition is not of necessity 
controlled by the extrinsic events of the past. I have 
further observed that, so far as we know, every intel- 
ligent being conies into existence with an object of 
effort — with want — and the knowledge of a means of 
gratifying this want, and can thus direct its effort with- 
out referenee to any past. 

On this point I have also argued that if the past 
is a cause of which volition is a necessary effect, then, 
as to eYQYj being there always is a past, eveiy being 
must of necessity will without any cessation ; and fur- 
ther, that if this cause is the whole past, then, as this 



CONCLUSION. 407 

whole past is at every instant the same to all, and tlie 
same causes necessarily produce the same efi'ects (as 
perhaps any blind causes must do), the same voli- 
tion must be produced in all at the same time. And if 
it be said that the volition in each mind is produced 
only by that portion of the past of which this particular 
mind is cognizant, then there must be some intelligent 
power to adapt this volition to the varying circum- 
stances of each mind, which a blind past could not do. 

To this controlling cause of volition in the past, Ed- 
wards subsequently gives the name of " motive," upon 
his vague definition of which 1 have commented. He 
treats inclination as a motive, but he also makes inclina- 
tion synonymous with choice and will, which would 
make the will — the soul willing — the cause of its own 
act. 

He also treats habit as a motive ; but, as I have 
shown (in Book I, Chap, xi), habit is but the mind's 
acting in conformity to a plan before known to it, 
rather than to form a new one, and this conforming its 
action to a mode previously known, being still self- 
direction, does not militate against its freedom in such 
action. I have also shown that on analyzing the par- 
ticular cases cited by Edwards, it appears that motive 
is but the mind's own view of some desirable effect of 
its contemplated effort, so that even the " ground or 
reason " for the act is not found in the past, but in the 
future, of which the mind has a present preconception. 
This shows that in these cases, especially selected to 
prove necessity, the mind directs its acts of will by its 
own view, i. e., by its own knowledge, thus really 
aflBrming its freedom. 

As touching this inflnence of the past, I have further 



4:08 EEVIEW OF EDWARDS ON THE WILL. 

argued that though that, which by activity may he- 
come cause, may and generally does have a prior ex- 
istence, yet an eJBPect is always simultaneous with the 
action of its cause, for if the effect can be delayed for 
an instant, it may be for another and another, and so 
may never be. This would dissolve the connection 
which must exist between any effect actually produced 
and its cause, though the terms or things connected 
may not of necessity be uniform. 

In regard to the uniformity of cause and effect, or 
the rule that the same causes necessarily joroduce the 
same effects, which is assumed by Edwards, and makes 
an essential link in some of his arguments for necessity, 
I have contended that it is not a law of meta/physical 
necessity, but an empirical result of our observations 
of material plienomena, and that even in them there is 
no sufficient ground for assuming that it is universal, 
and no reason to suppose that it applies to mind. That 
in things material it but indicates that the Supreme 
Intelligence has voluntarily adopted certain uniform 
rules for governing or directing His own actions, and 
that it is quite conceivable that He could have varied 
this plan so as to have produced a perfect variety or 
w^ant of uniformity. That even infinite power must be 
presumed to put forth creative effort from a want of 
variety, and that the only conceivable reason why such 
variety is partially sacrificed to uniformity, is the abso- 
lute necessity of such uniformity to the existence of 
finite free agents. This uniformity in the material uni- 
verse, then, instead of favoring the argument for neces- 
sity in the action of such agents, as Edwards supposes, 
really becomes, as a final cause, an argument that they 
act freely. It is conceivable that this result might have 



CONCLUSION. 409 

been reached by other modes, as, for instance, by estab- 
lishing a law of variability, and making this law known 
to linite agents, bnt this does not conflict with the argu- 
ment just deduced from the fact of uniformity, and need 
not be here dwelt upon. 

I have also suggested that this uniformity, in things 
material, may arise from an infinitely wise being always 
knowing what is best under certain circumstances and 
conforming its action in each recurrence of them to this 
knowledge. Finite mind, too, may freely adopt gen- 
eral rules for its action under certain circumstances, or 
at each recurrence of the like circumstances may per- 
ceive the same action to be best, and freely conforming 
its action to its knowledge of the general rule, or of the 
particular fact, produce a certain degree of uniformity 
in its efibrts and in the consequent effects. In none of 
these cases does the uniformity conflict with the mind's 
fieedom, but such freedom is rather an element in pro- 
ducing the uniformity. 

I have further urged that even admitting the rule 
of uniform causation, and that it applies to mind, we 
could only infer from it that the volitions as effects are 
necessary, and not that mind, as their caiise, is neces- 
sitated or not free in its action. Such necessity of the 
effect is proof only of the sufficient power of mind as 
cause to produce it. Hence, though this assumed rule 
is much relied upon in the argument for necessity, its 
disproof is not absolutely essential either to the refuta- 
tion of that argument or to the proof of freedom, and 
especially if it is established that mind is a first cause, 
acting from considerations of ih.Q future and not moved 
by power in th.e past. 

Throughout his " Treatise " Edwards ignores mind 
18 



410 REVIEW OF EDWARDS ON THE WILL. 

as cause, making sucli unintelligent tilings as past 
events, motives, and habits control and direct tlie course 
of events in the future, including human volitions. I 
have urged that such unintelligent things have no 
power or tendency to will themselves, or to produce a 
volition in an_ything else, and even if they had such 
power, their causative action and effects must form an 
infinite series running backward into the past, each link 
or term requiring a preceding one as its cause without 
the possibility of ever reaching a first cause ; and if the 
Supreme Intelligence is admitted to be a first cause ca- 
pable of beginning a series of events without reference 
to a past, then the assumption in regard to the necessity 
of past causality is destroyed, and cannot be urged 
against the position that finite intelligence in its finite 
sphere may act and produce effects in the future with- 
out any causative power being exerted by the past. 

It appears that some of the advocates of freedom 
have admitted that will and choice are the same, and 
also that liberty implies the absence not only of ex- 
trinsic, but of self control, and hence were driven to 
certain positions in regard to " indifference " and " con- 
tingence " against which Edwards directs his arguments 
on these subjects. They are not material to the system 
I have advanced, and I have remarked upon them only 
because they afforded opportunity to elucidate my own 
views, and to expose some of the fallacies opposed to 
them. Nearly all of Edwards's reasoning upon them 
rests upon the erroneous definitions and assumptions 
already mentioned. 

Another argument for necessity, adduced by Ed- 
wards, is, that the volition always follows the last dic- 
tate of the understanding, or is so connected with the 



CONCLUSION. 411 

uuclerstauding, as an antecedent cause, that the volition, 
as its effect, must be one particular volition, and can be 
no other. But the last dictate of the understanding is 
often itself a choice, which in Edwards's s^'^stem is a 
volition and cannot follow itself. And if the under- 
standing is a portion, power, faculty, or attribute of the 
mind, then, that the volition is certainly determined by 
the understanding only proves the mind's perfect con- 
trol, and consequent freedom, in its act of willing. 

The last dictate of the understanding always is a 
conclusion as to truths or facts in regard to the subject 
presented, and may be the result of effort in examining 
by comparison or otherwise, or may be an immediate 
perception of the knowing sense. In all cases it is the 
view or knowledge of the mind, which it can use to 
direct its action. This last dictate, however, is not 
always followed by an act of will, but in many cases, 
as when we compare two triangles merely to ascertain 
their relative size, the knowledge is itself the end 
sought, and leads to no subsequent efibrt — no act of 
will follows. 

It appears, also, that the advocates for freedom have 
relied much upon the asserted ability of the mind to 
will in cases of indifference, i. «., in cases in which 
there can be no ground of choice as between two things 
or two acts, and no motive to choose or do one rather 
than the other. Edwards attempts to show that in such 
cases the mind makes for itself a rule of action which 
becomes to it a motive to choose one rather than the 
other. I have endeavored to prove that the plan he 
suggests really involves the very difficulties he seeks by 
it to avoid, and in a greater degree, and that the mind 
in such cases, instead of doing something additional to 



412 REVIEW OF EDWAKD8 ON THE WILL. 

construct this motive, really omits the preliminary com- 
parison and judgment as to the things or acts which it 
already perceives to be equal, or ends its effort to com- 
pare with such perception of their equality, as readily 
as it would do with a perception that one thing is de- 
cidedly better than some other, and, in fact, comes to 
no choice among them. The argument on " choosing 
in things indifferent " derives much of its supposed 
importance from the assumption that to choose and to 
will are the same thing. Under the views I have put 
forth, choice, even between acting and not acting, may 
not be of necessity essential to an act of will, much less 
choice as between different acts or objects. An oyster 
having the faculty of will and the feeling of hmiger, 
with only an innate knowledge of the mode of opening 
its bivalves, and that opening them is required to sat- 
isfy its hunger, could will to open them without com- 
paring the act of opening with any other act. If it 
acts at all it must be without such comparison or conse- 
quent choice, for it knows no other act with which to 
compare. It could thus act even though there were no 
other power in existence, and of course in so doing 
would then be both uncontrolled and unaided, and 
hence the act must be wholly its own self-directed act, 
and, consequently, a free though but an instinctive act. 
Such an oyster having a faculty of will, and knowledge 
to direct its effort or act of will to effect what it wants, 
is in itself complete as a self-acting and self-directing 
power or cause, is a complete free agent, though with a 
very limited agency. Its agency is limited like that of 
every other order of intelligence to the sphere of its 
knowledge. With the knowledge of one mode of action, 
preliminary efforts to obtain more knowledge by com- 



CONCLUSION. 413 

parisou and consequent choice, are not essential to ac- 
tion, but only to l)etter or to varied action, and if such 
preliminary efforts are unsuccessful and no choice is 
reached, it leaves the mind to the mode of action pre- 
viously known to it. As by its own unaided efforts the 
oyster can to the extent of opening and shutting its 
bivalves influence the future, it is so far a creative first 
cause. It can originate action and produce effects — 
begin and complete a series of effects — for which there 
is no cause anterior to itself. 

Besides the attempts to prove necessity in tlie mind's 
acts of will, by showing in the first place that it cannot 
determine its own action, and in the second, that its 
action is determined by something extrinsic to itself, 
Edwards has a third mode of argument seeking to prove 
that in point of fact volitions must be necessary because 
God certainly foreknows them. Admitting, for the 
argument, that foreknowledge of a volition, by an infal- 
lible being, involves its necessity, I have contended that 
for such foreknowledge there is no such necessity as 
Edwards asserts : that as it appeared probable that God 
had limited variety, as the object of His action, for the 
reason that uniformity in it is essential to the existence 
of finite free agents, so He might for a like reason limit 
His prescience. 

Edwards asserts that foreknowledge, and especially 
foreknowledge of human volitions, is absolutely neces- 
sary to enable the Supreme Intelligence to govern the 
universe — that without it He conld not provide in sea- 
son for the contingencies which would arise from the 
unknown volitions. In opposition to this, I have urged 
that a being of infinite wisdom could, without knowing 
a single future volition of any finite being, provide in 



414r KEVIEW OF EDWARDS ON THE WILL. 

advance for every contingency wliicli could possibly 
arise from free and independent finite action ; and 
further that a being infinite in wisdom and power has no 
need thus to provide in advance, as He could both form 
and execute His plan at the instant that the emergency 
for it arose ; that He could do this and yet conform all 
His acts to uniform modes, and still have in reserve, for 
any possible requirement, the power to depart from 
these uniform modes and work by miracles. 

1 have also argued that the actual foreknowledge of 
all future events, inclnding the volitions of Himself and 
of all other intelligent beings, would deprive God of 
the highest attributes of creative intelligence, and, in 
fact, deny that He ever possessed them — that, though 
still infinite. His creative power would thereby be 
reduced in rank beneath that of the mere copyist and 
His voluntary action to the level of the lowest form of 
the instinctive. As between these two hypotheses, the 
one attributing to Deity full actual prescience and 
thereby, as a logical necessity, depriving Him of the 
highest attribute of creative power, and the other in 
which a self-imposed limit to His prescience still makes 
the continued exercise of free creative efforts with intel- 
ligent design and adaptation possible both to the finite 
and the Infinite Intelligence, the reader will judge which 
is the more reverent, which attributes the greater wis- 
dom, and which most honors the Omniscient. 

In here ending my review of this remarkable argu- 
ment of Edwards, I may be permitted to say that in 
my efibrts to expose its fallacies, as also in the direct 
argument which I have presented in favor of freedom, I 
have been actuated by a desire to find truth and to 
eradicate error, and though I have sought to meet the 



CONCLUSION. 4] 5 

subtle reasoning of the great advocate for necessity 
with his own weapons, I am not conscious that either 
the ardor incident to polemical discussion, the pride 
of opinion, or any vain ambition for victory has ever 
diverted me from these objects. On one other point I 
would make a suggestion. It is in the domain of the 
spiritual tbat the highest attributes of Deity are most 
especially manifested. In entering it, we pass, as it 
were, from the material workmanship, the magnificent 
— the stupendous and harmonious grandeur of which so 
exalts our conceptions and so fills us with wonder, to 
tbat inner sanctuary of thought in which all this gran- 
deur is designed, and there find that it is but the 
massive base of an ethereal superstructure still more 
admirable and sublime. To explore this domain is the 
province of the metaphysician, and however reverently 
he may perform his office, he is often subjected to the 
imputation of profanely entering the Holy of Holies, 
and of being rudely familiar with sacred things. How 
far I have avoided what would justify such imputation, 
and bow far my efforts to advance truth have been suc- 
cessful, that portion of a small class of readers still 
attracted by the subject, of whom it may be my good 
fortune to obtain audience, will decide, and they will 
perhaps indulge me in closing this work with the ex- 
pression of an earnest hope that it will be conducive to 
the progress and elevation of man, and a sincere belief 
that nothing in it will be found to lessen the love, rev- 
erence, and homage, which even the most abstract con- 
templation of tbe Character of the Most High tends to 
inspire. 



APPENDIX. 



18* 



APPENDIX. 
NOTES TO BOOK I. 

NOTE I. P. r. 
These views may explain the difficulty of applying mathemati- 
cal reasoning to other subjects. In these we have to apply our 
definitions to something that exists independent of the definitions, 
and there is great difficulty in doing this accurately. Another 
difficulty is in comparing the relations of things not homogeneous 
in their nature. In mathematics we deal with nothing but quanti- 
ty, and the whole scope of the comparison is as to its equality, or 
inequality, under different forms. The definitions must be perfect, 
for they determine the thing defined ; and all the truths of Geom- 
etry are really involved in these definitions ; the demonstrations 
under them being mere logical processes, showing that they are so 
involved, or that what is true, when stated in one way in the 
definitions, is also true when stated in another way in the 
propositions. 

NOTE n. p. 9. 
We may also, in some cases, avoid or discard sensations by 
acts of will. In regard to objects of vision, we may shut our eyes, 
or direct them to other objects, and may, at least in some degree, 
modify many other sensations by directing the attention to or from 
them by direct acts of wUl. By will we may select from among 
external objects the subjects of our attention. Though we and 
other intelligences may be at work altering, at each moment we 
recognize by the senses only what is and not what will be. What 



420 APPENDIX. 

we have now observed of those sensations, which we refer to ex- 
ternal objects, is also true of those physical sensations, which arise 
from our own tnaterial organism. Those, too, are external to the 
mind and independent of the will. We cannot, by will, feel, or 
avoid feeling hungry ; and most persons in a normal condition can 
very faintly even recall or imagine the sensation of bodily pain. 
In sleep, that state in which the soul seems most independent of 
the external senses, it has this power; and in some conditions 
almost perfectly ; indicating that we have undeveloped spiritual 
faculties by which we may retain the physical sensations, without 
the material organs of sense. 

NOTE III. P. 13. 

In the bodily movements we are conscious of acting upon dis- 
tinct members occupying distinct positions in space, and that when 
we move the hand and when we move the foot there is a differ- 
ence both in the object and in the effort. There is generally some 
remoter object of an effort for bodily movement, as to move from 
one place to another by walking, using our limbs as the instru- 
ment for this purpose. 

In the efforts for mental change we may perhaps be conscious 
of using the material organism of the brain as an instrument, but 
if so, as this occurs in every kind of effort, it furnishes no means 
of distinguishing the efforts from each other. Perhaps we only 
resort to the organic brain as a means of exciting sensations in the 
mind, which we use, as we use language, symbols, or counters, to 
condense and to mark the progress, positions, or relations of our 
ideas. If, as the phrenologists assert, we use different portions of 
the brain for different processes or objects, still these portions have 
been named from these processes or objects, and have not fur- 
nished the name for the corresponding efforts, and what they assert, 
if established, would not indicate different active agents or powers, 
but only that the same active agent in its different efforts uses dif- 
ferent organic instruments. 

NOTE lY. P. 16. 
In the first class of these cases, any effort of which we are con- 
scious is to comprehend the meaning of the terms, rather than to 
judge as to the truth they express when understood; but in the 



APPENDIX. 421 

last case, the truth is uo less really involved in the terms than in 
the others, but being less obviously so, effort is required to dis- 
cover it. If, instead of seeking to know the truth of the expression, 
that the angles of a plane triangle are equal to two right angles, we 
seek to find the measure of those angles, the case wUI more widely 
differ from the first class. The limit of simple perception, or of 
the capacity for perceiving truth without previous eflTort in arrang- 
ing our knowledge of the subject, varies not only in different 
individuals, but in the same individual at different times. If this 
capacity were infinite, the acquisition of any knowledge wiiatever 
would require no other effort than that of directing attention to 
the subject, and if the attention of a being of such capacity could 
also embrace all objects, every truth would be immediately appre- 
hended by it. Such a being would be, or at least could be, om- 
niscient. 

NOTE V. P. 25. 

In regard to processes of thought, a question arises somewhat 
analogous to that hereafter suggested in regard to matter in motion, 
viz. : — Does it require an effort, an exercise of power, to continue 
or to stop them? The mind is pursuing a logical train, does it 
require the exercise of the will at each step to advance it? or can 
it, by simple perception of the relations of the terms, anticipate the 
successive steps, and going on without any exercise of the will, re- 
quire such exercise to stop it at any point short of the final result 
of the argument, or of the mind's non-perception of any further 
results? It is obvious that the simple perceptions of the mind at 
every stage of the logical process, whether such perceptions have 
or have not required a preliminary effort, have a determinate 
limit beyond which the mind has not progressed, and that it is here 
for the instant arrested till, either by its own effort or by some 
extrinsic power, the obstruction to its mental vision is removed, or 
such arrangements made of its ideas as will enable it to get another 
perception reaching farther into the subject. The perception is 
always immediate and instantaneous ; there is no momentum car- 
rying it beyond the point to which the mind actually sees. A 
gleam from truth may flasli upon us and be immediately lost, requir- 
ing further search to find the gem ; and when found we may deem 
closer examination requisite to ascertain if it is pure and genuine. 



4:22 APPENDIX. 

However this may be, it seems certain that the mind cannot direct- 
ly determine the successive steps by a mere act, or exercise of its 
■will ; for these must depend upon the absolute relations which the 
mind perceives among the terms of the argument ; and hence, the 
result is not a product of the will, though the process by which the 
result is reached, or made palpable to simple mental perceptions 
may be, and generally is. So of those other processes of thought 
in which the mind examines and searches for truth without the 
intervention of words ; directly analyzing, combining and comparing 
the objects of its thoughts, as originally perceived or apprehended, in- 
stead of first putting them in words. The observed relations here, 
too, control the progress of the thoughts, and the final result is not 
dependent on the will: The only difference between the two cases 
is, that in pursuing the one, the logical train, the mind is directed 
to its conclusions by the relations it perceives among the terms, 
while in the other, it is directed by the relations it perceives among 
the things themselves. If we happen to see two fragile bodies 
moving rapidly toward each other in the same right line, we, 
with our past experience, may perceive, without any effort of will, 
that one or both will be broken ; and if we have in view the ex- 
pression X — 1 = 5, we may in like manner perceive that s = 6 ; 
and so of more complicated forms of expression. Though we may 
will to seek out the relations, we cannot by wnll change our per- 
ceptions of the relations which we perceive whether sought or 
unsought. They are real and immutable existences or truths 
which we cannot alter by will or exclude from our belief any more 
than on examining the subject we can by will exclude the results 
that 2 + 2=4, or that all the angles of a plane triangle are equal to 
two right angles. So far then as our knowledge is derived from 
sensation and from thought, the influence of our exercise of will is 
limited to the quantity of time and th^ amount of efibrt we apply to 
its acquisition ; and to a selection from among the various subjects 
suggested by external or internal agencies, to which this time and 
efi'ort shall be directed. These questions as to whether an eifort 
of the mind is required to continue or to stop its train of thought, 
or whether it can recognize certain consequences of its observations 
or certain relations of its thoughts without such efibrt, are really 
questions as to the limits of simple mental perception, and are 



APPENDIX. 423 

etill more analogous to tliose i-elating to sensation than to matter 
in motion. I seo a tree and a stone before me without any effort. 
How far I perceive the relations of the two without effort maybe a 
question ; and so, also, it may not be ascertained how far the mind 
perceives the relations of its ideas or of its various knowledge 
without effort, and this is not essential to our inquiry. For this, 
the facts that we have some knowledge, intuitive or acquired, 
without effort, and that by proper effort our knowledge may be 
increased, are sufficient. We cannot by will vary the facts 
or truths as they appear to the mind, nor even wholly exclude 
them. To be able to vary them by will, would be but an ability 
to destroy our power to find truth. Mind cannot banish any 
thought or thing from it by direct effort or will, for to will not to 
think of or not to attend to anything is still to think of or to attend to 
it, and it is only by directing its thoughts to something else, that it 
can by effort get rid of its present thoughts or images. It cannot 
always avoid them. Other intelligences, infinite and finite, have, 
to some extent the power to impress their thoughts, their creations, 
upon us, whether we will or not. In regard to the power of the 
mind to control the results of its investigations, it may, perhaps, be 
urged that we will to examine only those f icts and arguments 
which lead to the particular result which we wish to establish, 
avoiding those on the other side. But, in such case, a man con- 
scious of this cannot be said to have acquired any knowledge. He 
may be prepared to assume and defend a position, but the fact that 
he has intentionally made his examination a partial one for the 
very purpose of arriving at the particular result, and done so from 
apprehension that an impartial examination would not lead to it, is 
conclusive upon himself that he knows the result is not to be relied 
upon ; and hence, he must be in doubt as to the result,* or rather, 
'just so far as he has interfered by his will, he has entirely failed to 
obtain any knowledge ; and, of course, the result cannot affect the 
conclusion we have just arrived at in regard to the relations of will 

* This i.= probably tlie fmindatioii of a not uncommon religions belit^f that, before 
we can Know anything aright, the will must be brought into a state of subjeciion to Gofl- 
thiit we must, in contemplating His manifestations become pas.sive — beooine as a little 
child — which having formed no theory, and having no interest to pervert truth, pas- 
sively perceives and accepts the conclusions from observation and reflection, without 
any inclination or effort to mould them to its prejudices, prido of opinion, or interest. 



424 APPENDIX. 

to our knowledge. What we have said on this subject is equally 
applicable to all our beliefs and opinions, of every degree of cer 
tainty or probability. "We cannot control them in the process of 
acquisition ; and once acquired, they cannot be changed by our 
merely willing such change. The opposite view that belief is de- 
pendent on the will seems to have led to honest persecution for 
(pinions deemed heretical. 

NOTE VI. P. 25. 

As the mind cannot act except by exercising some of its powers? 
every act of mind is an effort or act of will ; and the phrases, acts 
of will, acts of mind, and mental action are really synonymous. 
If the mind is moved, except in or by the exerc'.se of its own power, 
it must be by some extrinsic power, and so far is as passive in such 
movement as is the stone which is so moved. It is not itself then 
active, but is the passive subject of action. We may be moved by 
external agencies and in this be passive ; when we move ourselves 
we must be active and we have no means of moving ourselves ex- 
cept by act of will or effort. We are moved by distress to p'ty, 
without our own action ; the emotion springs directly from knowl- 
edge, which may have required no effort ; but when we would 
relieve that distress by any act of our own, we must will — make 
effort. In acquiring knowledge, — in learning what is — by simple 
mental perception, either of things or ideas, the mind may make no 
effbrt. But when it seeks by the exercise of its own powers to 
know something which it does not now know, or to do anything 
whatever to change the existing state of things — to influence the 
future — it must makeeffbi't, it must will; and conversely, whatever 
is done without its effort is not done by it, but must be by some 
other power of which it can at most be but an instrument. 

The deciding and the willing of the mind are sometimes con- 
founded. The phrases decided to do and icilled. to do are frequently 
used as equivalent. This arises from a decision being, at least 
very generally, preliminary to an act of will ; but there are many 
decisions of the mind which involve no coexisting or subsequent 
act of will, as its conclusions in regard to abstract truths, or when 
it decides not to attempt any change, not to interfere by any exer- 
cise of its power with the course of events. In this last case, as 
che willing is the means by which we effect change, if the decision 



APPENDIX. 425 

is the willing, we should have to say we willed not to will. There 
is a manifest distinction between the cases in which the decision 
is not, and those in which it is, attended or followed by some 
action to effect change. In the latter we are conscious that the 
decision is followed by a mental affection, which we term effort, 
and without which the effeit, though we may conceive of it and 
view it as in itself desirable, would not follow. The decision is 
the final conclusion or judgment of the mind as to doing ; and 
when it has decided to do, it executes its decision, so far as it has 
power, by an effort. It does or tries to do what it decided to 
do. A decision or final judgment is but an addition to our knowl- 
edge, in some cases as to what already is or will be, and in others 
as to what is best for us to do. This decision or judgment may 
have been an immediate jjercepiion, or it may have required a 
preliminary effort, but this does not conflict with the assertion that 
the decision is not the willing, but tends to confirm it, as knowl- 
edge, whether a simple perception or acquired by effort, is not an 
act of will. 

NOTE VII. P. 32, 

Professor Bowen, in his very able " Lowell Lectures," gives a 
negative reply to all these positions. He rests his conclusions on 
the premise that matter cannot move itself or direct its own mo- 
tion, which is also the basis of my reasoning, and I do not perceive 
that his reaches farther than mine, or proves that matti r in motion 
may not be an independent cause or that it could not be used as 
an instrument to prolong and extend the effects of intelligent 
action, I much desired to make such proof, but found no way to 
do it. I desire 1 it not only to simplify the question of free agency, 
but also to facilitate the proof that God still exists ; which we both 
treat as deducible from the proposition that matter has no causa- 
tive power. 

I may here further observe that the views I have advanced in 
Book II., in regard to the law of cause and effect, and my inference, 
from the observed uniformity of things external to us, of a design in 
the Supreme Intelligence to provide for finite free agents, also 
closely resemble those put forth by Professor Bowen. My conclu- 
sions on all these topics having been reached, written, and dis- 
3nssed with ray friends, before his lectures were delivered, could 



426 APPENDIX. 

not have been influenced even by the infusion and circulation of hia 
views in the common atmosphere of thought, and hence are entitled 
to that greater consideration and credence, which are properly 
accorded to the concurrent results of independent mental action. 

NOTE VIII. P. 35. 

If bodies in motion produce effects on other bodies by imping- 
ing against them, it must be by giving motion to those at rest, or 
by stopping, retarding, accelerating, or changing the direction of 
those in motion; and if moving bodies strike on opposite sides of 
a body at rest, it cannot move both ways at the same time ; and 
hence, a loss of some of the power of matter in motion. If bodies 
impinge with equal aggregate force on opposite sides of the 
same body, then the motive power of all such impinging bodies 
may be destroyed and no new force is communicated to the inter- 
vening body. If the bodies thus impinging either on an interven- 
ing body or directly against each other, are perfectly elastic, then 
so far as our observation informs us, they would acquire equal 
force in the opposite directions, and the resnlt would be the same 
as though no body had intervened and no direct collision occurred 
except that the impinging particles would have exchanged with 
each other and each turned back on the lines on which, but for 
the collision, the other would have moved. But in case of such 
elasticity it is demonstrable that the impinging bodies must come 
to a state of rest, and being but inert matter, they could not put 
themselves in motion again. 

If, as is now asserted, the force of the impinging bodies, when 
they are arrested, is converted into heat, still that heat often as- 
sumes a passive form, as in coal, requiring some active cause to 
develope and make it efficient, and in this view the heat which 
is stored in the coal is but an instrument by which this cause 
makes itself effective. It matters little to our argument whether 
the active cause produces force by means of the heat reserved 
in the coal or by putting quiescent matter in motion. 

NOTE IX. P. 35. 
The apparent power of matter in motion to produce effects, of 
course without design in the matter, is probably the foundation of 
those notions of a blind chfince in the succession of events, which, 



APPENDIX. 427 

in some form or other, seem always to have had a place in the 
popular mind. Matter once put in motion by intelligence might, 
after it had produced all the effects intended, go on to produce 
other effects ; or before the completion of the intended c ffects, it 
might produce other effects which were not intended. These are 
said to come to pass by chance or accident, and though frequently 
used intercliangeably, I think that in common discourse the former 
is more generally applied to effects without or beyond the scope of 
the design, and the latter to such as incidentally happen within it, 
and are either unexpected or counter to the design. 

NOTE X. P. 38. 

It is not necessary to suppose that this energy is really con- 
stant everywhere. If all changes in matter, and all activity within 
the universe of our knowledge, were suddenly suspende 1 and to 
remain so for millions of years, as measured by something without 
that universe, and all simultaneously put in motion again, begin- 
ning where, or as, it left, off, we never could know it. The suc- 
cession would be the same to us as if there had been no interruption. 

NOTE XI. P. 39. 

It is only by a figure of speech or, perhaps a contraction of 
language, that matter is said to do anything ; and the recent change 
of expression from '" moving " to " being movf^d " is, so far, more 
strictly philosophical. 

NOTE XII. P. 43. 

This finite pre-ence, or presence co-extensive with knowledge, 
answers all the purposes of spirit, for, if we exclude the phenome- 
na of the bodily sensations and muscular action, nothing is gained 
by our being actually moved in space ; and hence, so far as our 
spiritual nature is concerned, this finite presence of man within the 
sphere of what he actually knows is as perfect as the omnipresence 
of the Supreme Being in His infinite sphere of knowledge. Our 
limited, incomplete and fading knowledge in many things requires 
to be renewed and augmented by means of the senses which, for 
this purpose, must be brought within sensible distance of their 
->4ects. 



428 APPENDIX. 

NOTE XIII. P. 47. 
It seems that by long dwelling on an idea, or from some excited 
or abnormal sensitiveness of the mind, it sometimes loses the 
power to change or annihilate its own creations, and they become 
to it as external realities, producing, if pai'tial, monomania, or, if 
general, causing one species of insanity. 

NOTE XIV. P. 49. 
It may be apprehended by some that this ascribing aUthe crea-- 
tive powers of Deity to man, in however small degree, may unduly 
arouse his pride and excite his presumption. If there be such a 
one, let him essay any comparison, even the most trifling. Let him 
observe yonder towering elm mirthfully rustling its foliage as if 
titillated by the awkward attempts of its neighboring spire to 
appear graceful. Or first looking upon nature, — the great picture 
which God exhibits to us as His own creation, — turn from it to 
the most exquisite painting of a Claude Lorraine or a Salvator 
Rosa, perhaps grouping a few trees, a glimpse of water, a speck of 
green sward, floating clouds and dubious rays of sunshine, &c., &c., 
and in the comparison, the works of man, even those which, as the 
highest efforts of his creative genius, excite our profoundest admi- 
ration, vvill appear sufficiently Lilliputian, suflficiently paltry and 
insignificant, not to say mean and even ludicrous, to induce a be- 
coming modesty, to attemper his pride and humble all that is 
haughty and arrofiant in his naiure ; and in the comparison he 
may realize that there is something more than a mere abstraction 
in the mathematical dogma that no increase of the finite can alter 
its ratio to the infinite. He may here observe, too, what we have 
before intimated, that the conceptions of the human mind are 
more perfect, more Godlike, than the expression. For ourselves, 
we apprehend no evil tendency in the exaltation of man to the 
conscious dignity and responsibility of a being endowed with crea- 
tive power. We believe he is too apt to take debasing views of 
himself to consider meanness and wrong as appropriate or necessary 
to his condition and attributable to the natural weakness and imper- 
fections of his being, rather than to his own agency, or his own 
neglect properly to exercise the powers he has at command. We be- 
lieve, too, that it is essential to even an imperfect conception of any 
one of God's attributes, that we should ourselves possess it in some 



APPENDIX. 429 

measure. Without tliis, \\ e liave no means of estimating the vast 
diiference, and can no more form even a remote conception of how 
much greater God is than His creatures, than v^^e can tell the pro- 
portion lietween seven acres and three liours. The proper effect 
then of the finite mind having the same attributes, is to enable it 
to form more adequate conceptions of the Infinite and make itself 
more sensible of its inferiority ; and if, as we have supposed 
may be the ca«e, its efforts are made effective through the uniform 
modes of God's action, the finite becomes wholly dependent on the 
Infinite for the execution of its designs and for the effectiveneHS of its 
eftorts; and these considerations, in this connection, are eminently 
calculated to inspire gratitude and imbue us with humility. 

NOTE XV. P. 58. 

As already remarked, a being, satisfied with things as they are, 
cannot be said to feel a want, and he makes no effort, he does not 
will any change. If he perceives that causes external to him are 
doing what he wants done without his agency, then, if his want is 
o:ily to have it done or to know that it will be done, his want is 
gratified by perceiving that it will be done. But perhaps he wants to 
know that it is actually done by these external causes ; and to this 
end an effort of attention is still required to gratify his want. 

NOTE XVI. P. 61. 

Even in cases of instinctive action, though, for reasons hereafter 
stated, we do not have to seek for knowledge to apply, or even to 
arrange the order of successive efforts, still it seems impossible that 
we should conform our action to the perceived circumstances — to 
the occasion demanding such action — without some intermediate 
effort, however in&tantaneous it may be, the need of which 
effort, as already suggested, may be intuitively known. However 
this may be, we early learn the importance of considering the cir- 
cumstances before we yield to instinctive impulses, and of ndapt- 
ing our actions to them, and thus are led to introduce conscious 
deliberation, either as a wholly new element or as an increase of one 
already existing, thereby changing the features or character of the 
action. 



4:30 APPENDIX. 

NOTE XVII. p. 75. 
Conflicting Wants. — There may be conflicting wants betweea 
which the mind must decide. If, for instance, a man with only 
bread and water at command is both hungry and thirsty, he 
must decide which want he will first make effort to relieve. 
Or if, with the want to move out of some apprehended danger, 
there is co-existing the conflicting want of bodily repose, then he 
must decide between them by a comparison of his preconceptions 
of the future eff"ects of his conduct. No matter how short the plan 
of action, or of how few steps it may be composed, he may make 
the comparison. Even if the conflict is merely between effort and 
repose, one of the preconceptions being then limited to the mere 
making of effort, if we perceive in advance that effort will be pain- 
ful or pleasurable, it furnishes a subject of comparison with the 
painful or pleasurable effects of not making the effort. 

It is conceivable that wemaj want not to make any effort, and 
that, under the influence of this want, we would not examine as 
to any effort required by any other conflicting want. This is 
equivalent to supposing that there is no want of change, or that 
the want of repose is a conflicting and, in the view of the mind, a 
permanent want. If, with this supposed and eventually paramount 
want not to act, there is a co-existing, conflicting want, the mind 
must recognize it, for that which is not recognized by the mind 
cannot be its want. It cannot then shut out the presentation of 
the question, or the petition of its other want ; * and its subsequent 
non-action is proof that it has decided upon it. 

It is, however, doubtful whether we can ever properly be said 
to have a want not to act. "We may want to make effort, but there 
are distinctions between the want to make effort, or the want of 
effort, and the effort itself. In the first place, the distinction be- 
tween the want and the thing wanted ; and in the second place, 
that between the want of effort generally and a particular effort ; 
we may be disposed to effort and yet some particular efforts be 
undesirable, and even with this want of effort generally, any par- 
ticular effort not yet made or determined must be a preconception 

* The popular idea that the right of petition should be utterly inviolable seems thus 
to have its origin in the lowest depths of the constitution of our spiritual being. It 
might be curious to trace out the analogy of its association with the idea of liberty, in 
its metaphysiral and in Its political lelations. 



APPENDIX. 431 

and not a want. Hence, it can never in the first instance be a con- 
flicting want, but only one of the modes of gratifying our want of 
effort, and as such, as just intimated, may come into comparison 
with other preconceived modes. In other words, what may be 
represented in terms as negatively a want not to make effort, gen- 
erally is either the absence of all want, or the presence of 
the positive want of repose. In the one case there is 
no disposition or indisposition to effort, and in the other, any such 
indisposition arises from a preconception that the effort if made 
will conflict with the want of repose ; and hence, is not the means 
to be adopted to gratify that want, and is subject to comparison 
wiih other preconceptions of the eflects of not acting. The forming 
of the preconceptions of the effect of acting or not acting is itself, 
for the time being, action ; and if with the want of repose a con- 
flicting want is actually presented to the mind, it must decide upon 
it, at least so far as to dispose of it by considering its merits, or 
deciding not to consider them. 

Ill the wants of activity and repose we have the last analysis 
of wants, and here find elements which enter into all our precon- 
ceptiiins for the gratification of other wants. The pleasure or [)ain 
of the particular effort, with its anticipated consequences, enters into 
the comparison of difterent modes of action. If, when wanting re- 
pose, the pain of effort itself, as perceived in advance, either from its 
proximity or other circumstance, appears greater than the anticipa- 
ted or apprehended painful results of not acting, or even just equal to 
them, no further effurt than that required to ascertain this fact 
will be made. So, too, if, when wanting activity, the pleasure of 
effort itself appears to be just balanced by the anticipated conse- 
quent pain of acting, or by the pleasure expected from not acting, 
no effort will be made. It is then as if the mind had no want to do, 
and it will not do. In such cases, though it may still know and 
enjoy or suffer, it is but the passive subject of changes in its own 
sensations, produced by other and extrinsic causes in which itself 
had no agency. From this inert or passive state the mind is 
aroused to effort by want, which may occur and recur without any 
antecedent effort ; and then by means of its knowledge, which also 
may exist without antecedent effort to obtain it, can direct its 
effort intelligently,. 



4:32 APPENDIX. 

NOTE XVm. P. 88. 
By memory of a continuity of tliose changes in our sensations, 
the sense of identity might still he preserved, even though the 
will and all its pre-requisite processes of thought were annihilated. 
Without will, we might still know ourselves as the subjects acted 
upon, but could never know ourselves as cause. If this view is 
correct, the personal identity does not of necessity inhere solely in 
the will. 

NOTE XIX. P. 101. 

If our first parents had no knowledge of good and evil, in any 
sense, they must have been in constant communication with God, 
and as immediately directed and governed by His will as mere 
matter is. 

NOTE XX. P. 109. 

These views are in harmony with one indicated in the last 
chapter, that deliberation is superinduced upon some more primi- 
tive mental processes. 

NOTE XXL P. 115. 

Many brute animals do not know enough to flee from a fire. 
The horse will not leave his stall, though the stable is burning 
about him. We might suppose him palsied by terror ; but if 
forced away he runs back again. It seems to be a voluntary act, 
founded on the association of safety with his stall. Children, 
when frightened, will in like manner run into danger to seek 
refuge in their mother's arms. 

NOTE XXII. P. 116. 

There is no doubt that the intuitive knowledge varies very 
materially in different animals ; and there is, at least, some ground 
for supposing that it varies also in the individuals of the same 
species. It seems, however, certain that in all not higher in the 
scale of intelligence than man, voluntary action has always its base 
in the instinctive, though the superstructure which constitutes 
the plan of action may be wholly rational. This appears from 
the consideration that the immediate object of every act of 
will is to produce muscular or mental activity, for which we 



APPENDIX. 433 

only know one mode, and that intuitively, and hence such action 
is always in itself instinctive. The diiference between the instinctive 
and the rational is not in the knowledge of the mode of acting, 
but in the mode by which we came to know the order of the suc- 
cession of our acts to reach the end sought. 

In regard to the difference in the iniuitive knowledge of indi- 
viduals of the same species it may be remarked that it is not only 
conceivable, but is matter of common belief, that the natural cal- 
culators, as the term implies, have an intuitive perception of the 
relations of numbers, or, at least, an intuitive knowledge of some 
mode of ascertaining such relation, through which they instinctive- 
ly reach results which others obtain in rational modes only by 
much time and labor. It is worthy of remark that those who 
exhibit this knowledge can give no more account of its origin, or 
even of their mode of obtaining their results, than others can give 
of their knowledge and modes in regard to muscular movements. 
If the natural calculator has only such intuitions as enable him 
easily to form plans by which, with very little effort, he reaches 
his results, his action is still rational. The amount of his knowl- 
edge, though it may enable him to make his plans more perfect 
and in less time, does not affect the nature of the act, which is 
still in conformity to a plan of his own contriving, using his supe- 
rior knowledge for that purpose. If he only adopts rules or plans 
which he finds ready formed in his mind, without any investiga- 
tion of his own, his action is instinctive. If he knows that, by 
looking for it in his mind, he will there perceive the result as a 
man perceives it in a table, without going through any process by 
any rule or plan, the action approaches as nearly as possible to 
that produced by an external power, — to mere mechanical action. 
But, as the action stiU requires an effort to apply the knowledge of 
this mode of obtaining the result, it is still voluntary and instinctive. 
So, also, of the natural bone setter. If he has by intuition such 
knowledge of anatomy as to enable him thereby to form his own 
pla?is, his action is as rational as if he had learned the same at a 
medical college. I speak of these phenomena as they exist in 
popular belief, and have not given to them the examination required 
to form an intelligent opinion as to their nature or existence. I 
will, however, observe that it only requires a modified form of one 
19 



434 APPENDIX. 

of our senses, an introvei'ted sense of bodily feeling, to enable one 
to obtain through it, all, and perhaps more than all, the knowledge 
of the anatomical structure of the system, which can be derived 
through the sense of sight from dissection, or from the observation 
of prepared specimens ; and that it does not seem more surprising 
that some men should intuitively have a knowledge of the relations 
of numbers and the results of their combinations, than that an ani- 
mal, blindfolded and carried by circuitous and zigzag routes, should 
know the direct course back to the point from whence it started. 

_ NOTE XXIII. P. 116. 
"Winking the eye when it needs to be moistened is probably in- 
stinctive. The infant knows wJien and how to do it as well as the 
adult, and apparently does it with as much facility. In the adult 
the attention and the effort required to do it being almost imper- 
ceptible, it is liable to be confounded with the involuntary and 
mechanical on the one hand, while to the more careful analyst it 
may appear not certain that it does not belong to the rational on 
the other. If we do not know that moving the lid will relieve the 
unpleasant feeling in the eye, we will not will to wink for such 
purpose, and if under such circumstances the lid moves, its move- 
ments must be attributed to some cause not of us ; and in such 
case, is as purely mechanical as the movements of the planetary 
system,* 

* The difficulty in applying conventional language to metaphysical inquiries is, 
perhaps, well illustrated by the fact that the distinction, apparently so broad and 
palpable as that between mechanical and voluntary, is really not well defined. In 
some connections the term voluntary would apply only to the volitions. But it 
has been transferred to the sequences of volitions ; and hence, we say the Tnuseu- 
lar movement which we will is voluntary ; but, in cases of cramp, or convulsion, it 
1b involuntary or not willed. If we conceive of matter as having been in motion 
from eternity, and as continuing and producing movements and changes of itself, 
then these movements and changes are undoubtedly mechanical ; but when such 
changes in matter are produced or directed by a voluntary agent, acting mediately 
or immediately, their character is more or less changed — we name them from ap- 
pearances generally — and when we do not recognize the immediate or present 
.icting of a voluntary agent, we call them mechanical. But how close and how 
apparent the connection must be before the term voluntary is applicable, does not 
seem to be well settled. But all movements of matter must probably be referred 
to the will of an intelligent being ; and if the universe is the material form with 
which the Infinite Spirit is associated, as the human frame with its finite spirit, 
the movement of a planet would, in this view, seem to be as much a voluntary 
movement, as the movements of our feet, when we will to walk. 



APPENDIX. 435 

On the other hand, it may be said that if a finger is suddenly 
thrust toward the eye the mind may immediately perceive or 
judge that there may not be time to consider whether it will reach 
the eye or not. The injury might be done during the time re- 
quired to consider this ; and hence, it is at once obvious that to 
insure safety the act of winking must be immediate, without con- 
sidering any other plan, the future consequences of the action, or 
even the present necessity for it. Any confidence which we might 
on reflection have that the finger would not be thrust upon the 
eye, cannot avail, for the mind has not time to consider this fact. 
The danger appears imminent and the mind decides almost instant- 
aneously, but its decisioti may still be a result of the exercise of 
its rational powers in comparing, &c., or in seeking a mode adapted 
to the end sougbt, and, if so, its action by a plan founded upon 
knowledge thus acquired, or even upon knowledge now acquired 
by immediate simple perception, and not upon an innate knowl- 
edge of the mode, is a rational action. In further confirmation of 
this view, it may be said that if the finger approaches the eye 
slowly, it is not immediately closed ; but the mind then judging 
that there is time to adopt the usual precaution of examining the 
circumstances preparatory to action, does examine ; it deliberates 
as to whether it will be necessary to make any effort to avoid the 
finger, and if so, what effort. The action must then be in con- 
formity to its own plan, even though its knowledge of the mode it 
adopts is intuitive ; for the adopting of that mode is an exercise of 
its rational faculties, using the intuitive knowledge nf the mode 
with other knowledge to form its plan of action with reference to 
a certain future result; and if, when the finger moves slowly, the 
action is a rational one, it may be difficult to determine at what 
particular velocity of the finger the action to avoid it becomes 
instinctive, if it ever does. 

But our previous reasoning would go to show that if an external 
object with the velocity of lightning flashes upon the eye, produc- 
ing pain or apprehension of injury, and we wink for its relief or 
protection, this may still be a rational action, though it may not 
be in time for the purpose intended. 

Whether the action be instinctive or rational^ it may become 
habitual ; but if the former, nothing is perhaps gained by the 



436 APPENDIX. 

transition to the latter, as it may be as easy for the mind to act 
from the original intuitive hnowledge^ the innate conception of the 
mode of relieving or protecting the eye by moving the lid o^er it, 
as from memory of the practice under the same mode, even after 
any number of repetitions. It is when we know of various modes 
of action adapted to the same occasions that habit lessens the time 
and labor of deciding by furnishing a mode before decided upon 
under similar circumstances. 

I have stated what appears to me to be the general rule of dis- 
tinction between instinctive and rational action. To remove some 
of the difficulties in applying this rule, to determine to which class 
certain actions belong, is perhaps rather in the province of the 
naturalist than of the metaphysician ; and by actual observation 
they may, perhaps, be able to determine whether the movement 
of the lid to moisten the eye, or to protect it from external violence, 
is, in either or both cases, instinetive. I would, further, here sug- 
gest the question, whether the intuitive knowledge of animals 
leads them to examine the surrounding circumstances before acting, 
and to conform their instinctive actions to them before they have 
learned by exj^erience to do so ? Wliether, for instance, if a kid's 
first want is to walk to its mother's breast, and water intervenes, 
it will walk into it, or around it, or not walk at all ? That there 
is an adaptation of the intuitive knowledge of the modes of instinct- 
ive action to the peculiar wants of the animal is obvious from 
numerous facts already observed, as that a chicken will not go into 
water, while a duckling will immediately embrace the first oppor- 
tunity of doing so. 

NOTE XXIV. P. 119. 

Though this distinction can be conceived of and expressed in 
terms, it is yet so slight as to raise a doubt as to whether it prac- 
tically amounts to anything. The diiference in working from 
direct knowledge, or from the memory of that knowledge, may 
amount to nothing ; though working from a direct knowledge, or 
from memory of previous actions, conformed to that knowledge, 
may. 

NOTE XXV. P. 123. 

The influence of this saving of labor in the plan is evinced in 
the fact that when we have a plan ready formed, which may be 



APPENDIX. 437 

worl<ed in and made a parr of the one now I'equired, we will often 
use it, though we may know that in all probability less labor will 
be required to execute one entirely new. 

NOTE XXVI. P. 130. 

Some persons prefer to have these emotions excited without 
intellectual effort, as in games of mere chance; and those, who 
are absorbed by the labor of providing for physical subsistence, and 
who have no intellectual or moral wants demanding effort, may 
yet want a quasi exercise of those powers, which such wants would 
call into action, or want the excitement which usually attends such 
exercise. They may want to be aroused by effort, but, degraded 
by grovelling pursuits, or enervated by luxury, idleness, or dissipa- 
tion, do not want to make the effort. To such, if not controlled 
by humane feelings, exhibitions of bullba'ts, cockfights, and gladi- 
atorial conflicts afford the required gratification without taxing 
their own powers. These views indicate that a popular passion 
f >r what we call the barbarous sports is not so much the result of 
that savage state in which the activities have full play in providing 
for personal defence or security and fir the absolute wants of life, 
as of that highly artificial condition of society in which larj:e 
portions of the community are overtasked in mere drudgery, and 
other large portions relieved from the necessity of laboring for 
physical existence, without the substitution of intellectual or moral 
objects of effort. It is only one phase of sensualism. The Eomans, 
supported in luxury by their slave? and their conquered provinces, 
with the love of the coarse and intense escit ment engendered in 
war, would, in times of repose, naturally resort to such exhibitions 
of effort, intensified to tlie sanguinary and violent. The rude 
Indian toi'tures his captive to increase his own security, or to re- 
venge the wrongs of himself or tribe, and not from that mere wan- 
tonness which is the product of a highly artificial and sensual con- 
dition of society. 

NOTE XXVII. P. 140. 
When the knowledge of means is intuitive, it is so closely asso« 
ciated with the want, that it is liable to be taken either for a part 
or for a necessary consequence of it, and thus the knowledge bo 
confounded with, or attributed to, the want. 



438 APPENDIX. 

NOTE XXVIII. P. 147. 

Logic. — The knowledge of abstract truth does not necessarily 
produce any want. It may itself be the object of an eflfort, which 
may end in gratifying the want which induced it — the want for 
some particular knowledge (jr trutii. Hence, as a tcant is essential 
to voluntary action, a mere conviction of truth does not directly 
demand such action. A man does not will because he is convinced 
by demonstrative argument that the angles of a plane triangle are 
equal to two right angles. The fact may gratify a previous want 
to know, but does not of necessity awaken any new want. A 
pleasurable emotion attending the discovery of the fact, or the ex- 
ercise of his powers in making it, may induce a want for the repe- 
tition of such emotion, nnd corresponding efforts of the mind to 
produce it. A perception of some prospective application of such 
knowledge may also do this. So, too, if he is convinced that a 
certain act is right and proper, it does not influence his will, unless 
he icants to do what is right and proper. Touch his sensibilities 
by presenting to him distress, or so portraying it that in imagina- 
tion it becomes present ; enable him to participate in and to antici- 
pate the pleasurable emotions of relieving it, and a want to relieve 
is induced.* 

Hence it is that mere logical results, however high and holy 
the truths demonstrated, do not touch the springs of voluntary 
action. In following the demonstrative argument we but perceive 
the relations between the terms ; and before they influence effort, 
we must make an application of such results to actual existence 
and dwell upon the new relations evolved by the new results, till 
they take hold of our affections and assume some form of want. 
The logic which merely demonstrates, however clearly and forci- 
bly, the advantages of holiness, does not of itself move us to effort. 

* The high morality, the generosity of the act, in such cases, consist in his deriving 
pleasure from making others happy, or perhaps a higher morality, a purer disititerest- 
ertness are evinced in his yielding to an instinctive or innate want to relieve distrfpa 
\vii;h<>ut any conscious reference to himself, showing that he has not depraved his morel 
nature, but that its delicate sympathies make the suiferings of others his own ; and re- 
lieving it in others, ft relief or gratification to himself; while the man who seeks out 
occasions for the exercise of such beneficent feelings, shows that he has cultivated this 
Innate want and has come to want the occasions for exercising his generosity, or by vigi- 
lant examination to relieve himself even from the apprehension that tliere is some 83 
yet undiscovered suffering requiring his action to relieve. 



APPENDIX. 439 

For this t]iere must be a want, and to excite such want in onr 
moral nature, one magnanimous act, one exhibition of tenderness, 
one manifestation of self-sacrificing devotion to principle, one 
delineation of true, unselfish love, one image of a Eedeemer by 
pure and sublime ideas, so elevated above all vulgar passions and 
resentments as to look down with a divine love and compassion 
upon those who reviled and tortured Him, may be more efficacious 
than all the calculations of utility which selfishness has ever sug- 
gested, or all the verbal arguments, which human ingenuity has 
ever devised. 

Hence religion, though she may stoop to meet the attacks of 
the sceptical logician on liis own ground, has a more congenial 
ally in taste^ which, in the moral as well as in the physical, is often 
a precursor and incentive to want ; in the former generally applied 
to the more refined and cultivated wants of our spiritual being; 
and the propagandist finds in the beauties of eloquent expression ; 
in the graces, or the sublimity of poetry; in architectural gran- 
deur; in lifelike delineations of reality, or of ideal conceptions on 
canvas ; in sculptured marble, cold and inflexible as logic itself, 
but still embodying some lofty conception, or some form of beauty ; 
a more direct and ready emotive influence t'l arouse t':e soul with 
a sense of its own sublime nature and inspire it with devotional 
feeling, than it can command from the most towering and most 
successful efforts of the intellect to demonstrate, in terms, the 
loftiest problems of humanity. 

Even in the concord of evanescent sounds, the soul finds an 
analogy, a moulding or shadowing to the senses, of its own har- 
monious variety, of its own aspirations, swelling into ecstasy in 
eflTort and smoothly subsiding into the luxury of contemplative 
repose. All these manifestations of art may fitly introduce and 
induce a want for the development and cultivation of those pure 
and elevated sentiments of which they but give the first suggestive 
taste ; * and those who have consecrated the power of genius to 

* I trust that I shall not be suspected of intending lightly to use this word — taste — in 
a doable sense. To my mind there is a profound significance in such relations of a 
term as I have here attempted to shadow, showing how deep, in the roinmon reason of 
man, the roots of liis form of expression may lie; and suggesting that, even if a merely 
arbitrary term is used, it is gradually fitted and jostled, by this conimon reason, into 
hartuonlous relations with a whole range of ideas, with only one of which, in its first 



440 APPENDIX. 

the service of ti-utli and virtiae, have ever been assigned a high 
place among the benefactors of their race, while those who per- 
vert it to make vice fascinating and seductive, are justly regarded 
as vilely treacherous to God and man. 

When, instead of the logical or prosaic mode of examining 
things by means of the relations of the terms by which we repre- 
sent those things, we look at the actual existences themselves as 
recoEfnized by the senses, or as made present to the mind by the 
exercise of its poetic powers, the things are present, or by a scenic 
illusion appear so, and, in either case, any fact or relation, which 
does not harmonize with our views or feelings, presents a want 
of change to the mind for its action. 

We may remark that, as it is mainly by means of these same 
poetic faculties that the future effect of an eftbrt in gratifying the 
want is made present, we here find the wants and the means of 
their gratification growing side by side in the same common soil. 
As before remarked, it is in the accuracy of the preconceptions of 
the future and a proper selection among them, that the mind 
manifests its ability in action ; and hence, the poetic faculty, not 
only by its power to examine the relation of things as they pri- 
marily and naturally exist, instead of the relation of the artificial 
terms by which those things are represented; but by its prophetic 
power of imagining, or conceiving of what does not yet exist, is 
really the basis of that common sense, which is so useful in the 
conduct of the atfaii s of life. He, who most clearly imagines, con- 
ceives, forese s ihe future, is, so far, best prepared to act wisely 
and sagaciously ; and, in this respect, the man who perceives has 
the advantage of him who reason^. 

The logician is proverb-ally liable to great mistakes in practical 
affairs, to exhibitions of a want of common sense ; but it is not so 
generally admitted that the poetic faculty corrects, or avoids the 
errors of the rea'^oning. It seems a desecration to put such noble 
endowments as our poetic and prophetic faculties to the vulgar, 
practical uses of daily life. It is taking the lightning from the 
skies to be the drudge of our workshops; but this is analogous to 
the influence of electricity, much diluted, in many of the most 
common and sluggish changes of matter. 

adaptation, it bad any perceptible affinity; thiit tbis common reason perceives and 
marks in expression those delicate similitudes of thought, which the reasoning of the 
philosopher is slow in developing 



APPENDIX. 441 

NOTE XXIX. P. 149. 

I use the phrases " morally right " and " morally wrong," as 
applicable to the intelligent being that wills, and not to the good 
or evil effects of his action generally. Such effects may be injurious 
when the intentions were most beneficent and morally right and 
good. 

NOTE XXX. P. 150. 

OiST FORMING PeEOONOEPTIONS AND ACQUIRING IdEAS. The 

forming of a preconception preparatory to action is generally a 
tentative process; the mind noting what will be the effect of one 
plan of action, and then varying the plan to obviate some defect, or 
to ascertain if some other is not better. It may, however, some- 
times happen tliat the first plan so completely fulfils all the con- 
ditions required, that no further investigation seems necessary. 

When the same want has repeatedly existed under the same 
circumstances, the mind adopts a previous plan from memory and 
association and acts from habit, saving itself the labor of re- 
investigation. The investigation, by which the mind determines 
its preconception, is only one of the cases in which it applies the 
knowledge it already has to acquire other knowledge. In doing 
this, it adopts one of two modes. It may examine the facts pre- 
sented until it is enabled to determine the truth ; or, after a partial 
examination, it may form an hypothesis, which appears probable, 
or, at least, possible, and then examine whether such hypothesis 
is compatible with all the facts. In the former case, the mind 
does not seek to arrive at a particular idea, but to arrive at truth. 
In the latter, it seeks to ascertain whether the idea it has formed 
is true. If the object were merely to get a particular idea into the 
mind without reference to its fulfilling the conditions required in 
that idea, as, for instance, its being true, no effort for such object 
could be made ; for the idea must then be in the mind before the 
want of it could be determined, and the whole object of the effort 
would already be accomplished. The want of a particular, definite 
idea must be a want that is already gratified, and of course is no 
longer a want. No such want then can exist, and no effort found- 
ed on such want is possible. We may have an idea, which we 
perceive is incomplete and not well defined, and want and make 
19* 



442 APPENDIX. 

effort to complete it, or to define it more accurately, that is, to get 
a more full, or more clear and definite idea of the subject. The 
mind cannot seek a particular, definite idea, or a particular, de- 
finite preconception ; but it may seek an idea, or a preconception, 
which will fulfil certain conditions. 

A man may want to know what the truth is, without forming 
any definite idea as to what that truth is ; or having formed a 
definite idea of what it may be — an hypothesis — may want to know 
if his hypothesis corresponds with the truth. One, who can only 
count, will know that the product of 7 multiplied by 9 must be 
some particular number, as yet unknown to him. He wants to 
know, and, on a partial examination of the facts, he perceives that 
by the use of his knowledge of counting he can gratify this want 
to know the product of 7 by 9. He can count out seven piles, 
each containing nine pebbles ; or nine piles, each containing seven 
pebbles; and then, counting the whole, arrive at a result without 
having formed any previous hypothesis as to that result. Here, 
however, are two preconceptions of the mode to be pursued, 
making seven piles of nine, or nine piles of seven, so obviously 
equal, that no one could anticipate which another mind would 
adopt, or which would be first perceived. 

The man may, however, — say for the purpose of forming some 
idea of the number of pebbles required, — prefer to carry his pre- 
liminary examination farther. In doing this, he may bring in his 
knowledge that, in counting, he advances by tens and goes over 
seven of these divisions of ten each in arriving at seventy ; and 
hence infer that 7x9, being less than 7 x 10, must be less than 
seventy, and that sixty-nine pebbles will be sufficient; and, com- 
mencing now with this hypothesis, that sixty-nine may be the 
product of 7 X 9, he counts out sixty-nine and then makes the 
experiment to ascertain if he can get just seven piles, of nine each, 
out of sixty -nine ; and varies the number until he can do so. 

Though this is not one of them, there are cases in arithmetic 
and even in geometry, in which the best mode is to begin with an 
hypothesis and test its truth, or the degree of its variation ; and, 
in the aflfairs of life, it is generally prudent to test any plan or 
preconception, as we would a mere hypothesis. They admit of so 
great variety and the combinations are so numerous, that the 
application of general rules is not practically reliable. They more 



APPENDIX. iid 

nearly resemble the variety and combination of the chessboard, 
in which it is frequently necessary to consider each of several 
possible moves and compare the preconceptions of the effects 
which we perceive would result. It is not unusual to aid these 
preconceptions by actually changing the place of the piece as pro- 
posed, and thus get, by immediate perception, what, without such 
move, is but imagined, or conceived. 

Pei'sons sometimes, having a vivid conception of the object 
desired, act hastily to attain it, without having fully matured the 
plan of the successive efforts required ; and are liable to fail in 
consequence. Some requisite effort may not have been made at 
the right time, or in proper order, or may have been overlooked 
entirely. 

NOTE XXXI. P. 155. 

There is no selfishness surpassing that of those who, having 
through life used all their means to obtain for themselves as much 
as possible of this world, at the last moment seek, by some judi- 
cious investment, to make them still available to obtain as much 
as possible of the next. 

NOTE XXXII. P. 155. 
Perhaps these views show the metaphysical root of the theo- 
logical and popular discussions as to the influence of works. 

NOTE XXXIII. P. 158. 

These truths, vaguely existing in the popular mind, or applied 
with too much latitude, may have furnished a metaphysical origin 
for the doctrine of " perseverance " ; and the same views, applied 
to the extermination of the wants morally good, seenf to furnish a 
similar foundation for the belief that a finite moral being may sink 
to a condition of degradation from which he has no power to rise ; 
and from which nothing but a miraculous intervention of Divine 
power can elevate him. As above intimated, however, there 
seems to be good reason to suppose that these wants, especially 
those more elevated, are so rooted in our being, that they can be 
actually eradicated only with its annihilation ; that even in the 
lowest stages of depravity, the inferior wants may ever supply 
temptation and give occasion, on the one hand, for vicious action, 
or submissive indulgence ; and, on the other, for virtuous efibrt in 



444 APPENDIX. 

resistance ; thus furnisliiug the means and inducement for atiU 
lower depths of debasement and for more hopeless habitual degra- 
dation ; and, at the same time, affording the opportunity for re- 
form, or for progress in virtue, to which all the higher aspirations 
of our nature will be incentives. To these, the Infinite Intelligence 
ever present and ever palpable in its effects ; and ever mediately, 
or immediately in communion with the finite, may add its Divine 
influence ; and even the aid of one finite being to another be not 
wholly unavailing in imparting knowledge and exhibiting moral 
beauty in action, and thus making it a want. 

NOTE XXXIV. P. 159. 
Intervals of such calm thought — of repose from the engross- 
ments and excitements of active temporal pursuits — have ever 
been deemed conducive to moral well-being, and, when occurring 
at stated times and places, and especially places set apart for this 
object, their influence may be enhanced by association and habit. 
We have stated times to gratify the want of food. 

NOTE XXXV. P. 165. 

Man, being constituted as he is, — being what our observatidn 
of his earliest existence shows him to be, — has the powers and 
faculties of a first cause. How he became such a being is not 
within the scope of our inquiry and is probably entirely beyond 
the reach of the human intellect. Our object is to show what he 
is, and what capable of, as he is, rather than how he came to be so. 

NOTE XXXVI. P. 171. 
I know a man, living on a very sterile tract, which to the 
most unremitted toil yields only a very meagre subsistence, but 
who, after considering a proposal of his friends to remove to a 
productive farm upon which much less labor would have given 
him abundance, said, " When I think how much work I have done 
on these gravel hills and stone walls, I cannot bear the thought of 
leaving them." He but expressed a common sentiment of man- 
kind, which is as potential in regard to the results of moral culture 
as of physical labor, and which has a specific influence in produc- 
ing consistent and persistent effort, and, of course, upon stability 
of character, giving to that which amidst adversity and temptation 



APPENDIX. 445 

has been built up by effort, an additional advantage ovei- that 
which has resulted from opportune circumstances. 



NOTES TO BOOK II. 



NOTE XXXVII* P. 201. 
Edwards adds, in a note, " I say not only doing, but conducting^ 
because a voluntary forbearing to do, sitting still, keeping silence, 
&c., are instances of persons' conduct, about which liberty is ex- 
ercised, though they are not so properly called doing.'''' 

NOTE XXXYIII. P. 241. 
This assertion and the necessary connection of effect with 
cause make everything necessary ; for everything must be em- 
braced in what is necessary in itself, and what is not necessary in 
itself; and what is not necessary in itself must have a cause, and 
hence, as an effect of its cause, becomes necessary, so that what is 
necessary in itself and what is not, being both necessary, every- 
thing is necessary. 

NOTE XXXIX. P. 251. 
In the same way, there may be things relatively impossible to 
the finite intelligence, which impossibility, when perceived, pre- 
vents its efforts to do such things ; but when not perceived, has no 
such influence whatever, though the effort will stiU be unavailing 
and the expected effect will not follow it, 

NOTE XL. P. 255. 
It is, perhaps, worthy of remark that tho existence and the 
nature of a finite line are co-existing and self-existing truths 
(knowledge), which the mind perceives as the reasons of the deter- 
mination or end ; as the preconception which the mind forms of 
the effect of its action is rather a reason, which it perceives for the 
determination of its act of will, than a cause of it. 

* The foot note on p. 201 refers to Note I. ; it should read Note XXXVII. 



446 APPENDIX. 

NOTE XLI. P. 278. 
The wise, the prudent, the industrious, especially do this;— the 
foolish, rash, and indolent decide by virtue of their absolute power 
80 to do, without examination. Most men however, by experience, 
knowing its importance, do more or less examine, and the results of 
such examination form the reasons for further action or an addi- 
tion to those reasons, which were immediately obvious. 

NOTE XLII. P. 294. 
If it could be shown that cause, or power to produce change, 
could thus be extended in time, only in the case of matter in mo- 
tion, and that it, by the changes wliich it produced, called on the 
active powers of intelligence as a dormant powei-, which must 
wait such opportunity to become cause ; then, matter in motion 
would become essential to the activity of spirit, not merely as 
something to be acted upon, but to enable intelligence to begiu to 
act and to sustain its action even for-a single moment ; and, in such 
case, the existence of matter as a distinct entity would be demon- 
strated, as also, that it must have existed and been in motion from 
eternity. 

NOTE XLIII. P. 332. 
If, as some suppose, the mind has other faculties, as reason, im- 
aginatiim, judgment, &c., which act independently of the will, 
then, if such action influences the action of the mind, it is still the 
mind influencing itself. In the view which I liave presented in 
Book I., Chap, iii., these supposed faculties are but varied modes of 
effort, or effort for varied objects ; and any exercise of them bear- 
ing on subsequent acts of will are but preliminary acts of will, de- 
termining the final act, which would be the mind's determin- 
ing the final act by its own preliminary act. In tracing back 
the series of such acts, we must eventually come to an act which 
was induced by a want and directed by the mind's knowledge, in 
the form of an immediate perception of the means of gratifying it. 
Such immediate perceptions, in the first instance, must be, and in 
most subsequent cases probably are, of intuitive knowledge, but 
may be of knowledge acquired previously, or at the instant. The 
known fact, most frequently, thus perceived and applied to direct 
an action, is tljat the first effort must be to examine the circum- 



APPENDIX. 447 

stances which, as before intimated, is probably intuitively known. 
The application of this note to other similar arguments, in which 
the " other faculties of the mind " are an element, will be obvious 
without reiterating it. 

NOTE XLIV. P. 345. 
In the relation of knowledge to acts of will, it i? not often ne- 
cessary to distinguish the innate from the intuitive, the important 
distinction generally being only between that which requires etfort 
to obtain it and that which does not. In Book I., Chap, xi,, I have 
argued that our knowledge that the mode of eifecting movement 
in our own being is by act of will, must be innate. 

NOTE XLV. P. 365. 

It is not intended to assert that this knowledge of the fact of 
uniformity in many cases, may not be intuitive as well as acquired. 
It is certainly not an idea of universal application, for there are 
many cases of a frequent recurrence of the same thing, to which , 
we never learn to apply it; and the intuitive knowledge of the 
fact tliat in some cases there is a certain uniformity of antecedents 
and consequences, might be only an innate faith, that God had in 
such cases established, and would maintain such uniformity, which 
would be very different from an intuitive conviction that such uni- 
formity must exist as a condition of metaphysical necessity. 

NOTE XLVI. P. 379. 

Though this may be expressed in terms, it does not seem cer- 
tain tliat any such case can be conceived of as practically arising. It 
cannot occur in regard to the mind in willing, for there is always 
the alternative of willing or not willing any action. If one body 
impinges directly against another, there must be some effect (aa 
the two bodies cannot occupy the same space, or one extension 
cannot possibly be two extensions) — non-effect^ in this case, involves 
contradiction ; but there are still various conceivable effects, no one 
of which has been ascertained to be the one necessary effect to the 
exclusion of the others. The observed effect does in fact vary 
very materially. It is true, it varies only with varied circum- 
stances, as hardness, inertia, momentum of the impinging body or 
bodies, &c. ; and then, in reference to these circumstances, with a 



448 APPENDIX. 

uniformity wliich has been well ascertained. But, that this or 
any other uniformity is of metaphysical necessity, that no power 
could have made it otherwise, has not yet been demonstrated. 

NOTE XLYII. P. 386. 
I have here intended to give all the scope and weight to the 
positions of Edwards which could possibly be accorded to them. 
Nor do I perceive that the admissions here made require any ma- 
terial modification. It may, however, be observed that, in the 
views I have presented in Book 1., any intelligence may ivfluenee 
the volition of another by imparting knowledge ; but, as before 
shown, such influence is possible only because the volition of this 
other is free. This suggestion can have no place in Edwards's 
system, because he makes knowledge itself the volition, and we 
thus find that even this argument on the foreknowledge of God is 
obscured by the confounding of choice and will. If, however, a 
being has any intelligence of its own — any knowing sense — even its 
knowledge cannot be wholly controlled by extrinsic power. A 
man, with eyes to see and ears to hear, must of himself get some 
knowledge of the external, and with powers of thought must learn 
some relations of ideas, and cannot be made by extrinsic power to 
know or believe that 2 + 2=5. In virtue of his intelligence I;e is so 
far an independent power ; and though he may be indirectly in- 
fluenced by knowledge imparted to him, yet even in this he can- 
not be coerced or constrained. He may be convinced by skilful 
presentation of truth ; he may be deceived by ingenious falsehood ; 
and freely acting upon the knowledge thus acquired, his action 
may be different from what it would be if it had not been inculca- 
ted. "We may suppose the Supreme Intelligence to resort to the 
first mode, and by imparting truth influence the action of men, (.r, 
perhaps, justly withholding divine illumination, permit the pervei-se 
to believe a lie. The element of want seems to present another 
possible mode of influencing the human will These, as we have 
before observed, are in the first instance constitutional, and can be 
cultivated only through the medium of knowledge, which would 
bring this mode in the same class of influences as that of knowl- 
edge itself; and if the constitutional wants are themselves altered 
by a direct application of power, this would be to change one of 
the constitutional elements of the being ; and either to partially 



APPENDIX. 449 

annihilate the being, or add to it by a new creation, making a dif- 
ferent being, another free agent, whose acts might, in virtue of 
being free, be different from those of the former agent. In none 
of these modes, then, can the wills of finite intelligent beings be 
directly controlled even by infinite power or infinite knowledge ; 
and the prescience of God furnishes no reason to suppose they can 
be thus controlled. 

NOTE XLYIII. P. 396. 

Without entering generally upon a subject for which T am 
wholly unprepared, I would here merely note the bearing which 
these views, and some others which I have before stated, appear 
to have upon the " Science of History." Such a science must have 
its basis either upon the idea that the events of the future are con- 
nected with those in the past, as effects dependent on antecedent 
causes which must produce such effects and no other ; or on the 
supposition that the Supreme Intelligence brings about results in 
conformity to certain uniform modes or laws which He has estab- 
lished ; by the exercise of His power either making all other effort 
as nought, or so combining the element of His own action with 
other causes that the composition of the forces will produce cer- 
tain uniform results, or at least results which may be anticipated. 

In regard to the idea that the events of the future are a neces- 
sary consequence of those in the past, our previous reasoning would 
go to show that, if we eliminate the mere mechanical effects which 
may result from matter in motion, there is no such connection, and 
that to produce any such requires the action of intelligent cause. 
The events of the past have no present existence. They may be 
remembered by an intelligent being, but such memories are but 
knowledge of the past, which, like any other knowledge, enables 
such being to direct its efforts upon the future intelligently. The 
whole influence of such past is, then, through the volition of an 
intelligent being. Excluding at any moment the mechanical effects 
of matter in motion, the whole future must depend on these voli- 
tions, and the events and circumstances which have already trans- 
pired have no more tendency to extend tlieraselves into the future 
than the wall, which the mason, by his own efforts, is raising 
brick by brick, has to build itself upward. 

The uniformity of the effects of matter in motion, whether aa 



45C APPENDIX. 

necessary consequences of motion, or as uniform modes of God's 
action, is established, and furnishes a means of deteruiining from 
the past something of the future ; but this is limited to the mechan- 
ical conditions of the material universe, enabling us to anticipate 
the alternations of day and night and of the seasons — to foreknow 
the future positions of the planets, and thus to predict eclipses, 
transits, &c., and so far there is, and has long been, a Science of 
History. 

In regard to thus foreknowing the course of events, which, upon 
the principles I have stated, is the composite result of all intelli- 
gent activity, or of such results combined with the effects of mat- 
ter in motion as a distinct cause, grave difficulties present them- 
selves. If, as I have argued, God, as a necessity in providing for 
the existence of finite free agents, foregoes the use of His own 
power to control every event, and even forms no plan of particu- 
lars in the future, but is ever ready by His own action to modify 
the effects of the free and independent action of all other intelli- 
gent beings, then He not only does not foreknow the acts of 
these finite free agents, but He foregoes the prescience of His own 
actions, and the student who from past history should seek to 
deduce these particular future acts, either of the finite or Infinite 
Intelligence, would be seeking a knowledge which God has pro- 
scribed even to Himself. 

In any attempt to solve tlie problem of these particular future 
events, our data must involve the variable elements of innumerable 
free wills, each of which may be acted upon and affected by every 
other, leaving little hope of any solution as to the particular events 
of volition and their immediate consequences. If it be said that, 
amidst this almost infinite variety, God yet, by His paramount 
power, reconciles the diveis influences so as to bring about a har- 
monious result, in conformity to some design which He has pre- 
formed, still the particular elements of the combination, including 
lljs own agency in it, cannot be foreknown ; and in regard to those 
final or cyclical events, which make a part of this supposed pre- 
ordained plan, there is manifestly great difficulty. From examina- 
tion of the past we may learn s ch very general facts as that God 
is just, that He will punish iniquity, &c., &c., and hence draw very 
general conclusions as to His future action ; but this still gives 



APPENDIX. 451 

little indication of the particular acts by which these ends will be 
reached, the time when, or even of the cyclical events by which 
His justice will be manifested, for there may be many events which 
so far as we can see, will equally answer the purpose. In this use of 
His power to do justice or punish iniquity we might expect, not a 
necessary repetition of former events, hut the exhibition of action 
reaching the same end, making perhaps historic parallels, of which 
the events now transpiring in our country, compared with those 
which attended the exodus of the Israelites, when the Egyptians 
were afflicted with plague after plague, till they were made willing 
to let the bondsman go free, seem to be a suiking illustration. 
Even in this case it is hardly conceivable that the events could have 
been inferred, with any particularity, from the past. Perhaps the 
nearest particular coincidence in this case is, that among those 
most mimediately implicated in the wrong of slavery, it is now 
asserted that there is hardly a family in which the strife has not 
brought a death, and then " there was not a house in which there 
was not one dead." The plague of the locusts devouring the pro- 
ducts of labor, is easily typified among either of the belligerents 
and perhaps the rod — the law intended to preserve peace and 
maintain order and justice — was cast down upon the 'ground and 
converted into a venomous reptile, in that opinion of our highest 
judicial tribunal in which it was asserted that, by our fundamental 
law, as originally intended by its framers, and as it must still be 
construed, a whole race of men and women had no rights which 
others were bound to respect. Verily, if such had become our 
settled principles, there was little reason to expect that the aveng- 
ing arm of Him whose ears are open to the moan and the prayer of 
the weak and the oppressed would long be stayed. Such events 
may indicate general rules or uniformity in God's action; as that 
the violence and injustice of a people shall react upon themselves, 
but still throws little light upon the particular modes by whicn 
the uniform results will be accomplished. Take for instance, as 
recorded, the most notable event of His special action since the 
creation of the world — the destruction of our race because of their 
sorruption. Even supposing that, on a recurrence of such corrup- 
tion, God would, as an act required by perfect justice, again 
depopulate the earth, He might still do it by other modes, as fire, 



4:52 APPENDIX. 

famine, pestilence or war. So far, indeed., from our being able 
from the past to infer that the recurrence of such corruption 
would be followed by another destroying flood, we cannot even 
infer that destruction in any form would be resorted to. If there 
is no change in God, there may be such change in His creatures as 
will be to Him a reason for a different course of action. Once, 
among us, the scourge and the gallows were deemed the proper 
antidotes for depravity ; now milder means, with the school and 
the lyceum, are relied upon, and this change in our views — in our 
appreciation of means — may be a reason with God for adopting 
another mode in which He may correct moral evil by imparting 
more knowledge to the transgressors, and, in case of a resort to 
miracle, instead of flood or flame, increase the knowledge of our 
race, either by His own inmiediate revelations to all, or by inspir- 
ing e.ome portion to teach new and elevating truth ; or by sending 
a special agent with extraordinary or even miraculous power to 
perform this office. On the grounds I have before suggested, 
such resort to miracle can seldom if ever become a necessity. 

Among the prominent difficulties which, in the views I have 
presented, would appear to impede the Science of History, we have 
the great variety of events which may intervene between the 
great general results which mark the footsteps of the Deity in 
time, and which are perhaps required by His attributes ; the uncer- 
tainty as to the periods between such events ; and that there may 
be many such results which will fulfil the same intention. In a 
game of chess it may be pretty confidently predicted that a very 
skilful player will eventually checkmate one unskilled ; but 
through what particular moves, or how many of them, it will be 
done, no human being can prognosticate. If now we suppose that, 
instead of only one result, the object or end in view of the player 
is to produce either checkmate or stalemate, or some one of a 
thousand other conditions, the difficulty of foreknowing the final 
result is vastly increased. In chess the possible combinations are 
limited ; but by repetitions of them the moves possible in a single 
game are infinite. If we suppose the possible combinations of the 
position of the pieces to number a billion, then when a billion and 
one moves have been made we know that at least some one combi- 
nation has been repeated. If we assume an arbitrary limit to the 



APPENDIX. 453 

number of moves in any game, tlien the variations which arise from 
changes in the order of the succession of the billion possible com- 
binations will also be limited ; and assuming this to be a trillion, 
we will know that when a trillion and one games have been played 
some one of the games has been an exact repetition of one of 
the others; but who would essay the task to tell, in the first case, 
what move, and in the second what game, had been repeated ; and 
yet the attempt to conceive or to state the greater difficulty in 
foreseeing the results of the acts of innumerable free agents would 
in itself be bewildering. 

This main difficulty, arising from the variable element of free 
volitions, may be thus stated : Excluding, as before, the mechani- 
cal eifects of matter in motion, the events of the past have no 
power to generate the future ; but that future is the result of in- 
telligent power manifested in efforts or acts of will. Intelligence? 
thus acting, is a cause which does not, on a repetition of the same 
circumstances, of necessity produce the same effect, or repeat its 
own action, but may, in such recurrence, try a new mode, produc- 
ing a different effect. The influence of this variable element of 
will is further complicated by each individual acting in reference 
to what he perceives others are doing, or are expected to do, so 
that the action even of the Supreme Intelligence may be modified 
by the action of inferior intelligences, down to the lowest in the 
scale, and may thus be influenced to elect one rather than another 
of divers cyclical events, any one of which will fulfil His main 
design. It must also be borne in mind that the object of every 
effort is to produce an effect in the future, and change that course 
of events which, but for such effort, would be established by the 
influence of other causes ; and that efforts which at the time ap- 
pear to be of little moment often lead to very important consequen- 
ces. These difficulties appear formidable, leaving little hope that 
the study of the history of the past will enable us to indicate even 
any great results by which God, in the exercise of His overruling 
power, at periods to us uncertain, corrects the aberrations pro- 
duced by finite efforts, and in the main conforms the course of 
events and the government of the world to His own attributes. 
On the other hand, there is encouragement for the prosecution of 
this lofty science in the fact that every being that wills must have 



454 APPENDIX. 

some perception of the future in whicli there is at least sufficient 
probability of truth to be the foundation of its action, affording a 
hope that this prophetic power may be largely increased by study 
and cultivation. It must not, however, be overlooked, that the 
probability that the future will conform to our anticipations of it 
decreases so rapidly, as we increase the distance in time, that our 
prophetic vision can reach only a very little way into futurity. As 
favoring the pursuit of this science, I may also refer to the posi- 
tion which (in the test) I have just attempted to illustrate, that 
God m;iy govern the world and provide compensation for all the 
aberrations of finite wills without departing from general rules or 
uniform modes of action ; and to the previous positions, that, being 
perfect in wisdom, His actions, under the same circumstances, will 
be free from the mutations which attend the experimental efforts 
of less intelligent beings, and that even the imperfect wisdom of 
finite free agents leads to a partial uniformity in the actions of 
the individual, while similarity in the natural wants and intuitive 
knowledge, and identity in the absolute truths from which we de- 
rive our acquired knowledge, tend to produce a corresponding 
similarity in the actions of different individuals. These tenden- 
cies to uniformity encourage the hope that some law or mode of 
God's action, analogous to that which assures the stability of the 
material universe, may, within certain limits, regulate the succession 
of events in the moral. We may also note, that thotigh, in some 
aspects, the ability which each one has to influence the action of 
others complicates and obscures the future, in another view it aids 
us to anticipate it. Our power to influence a future event is so far 
a power to foreknow it. When the efforts of a large number of 
persons are directed to the same end, the probability that this end 
•will be accomplished is increased. When these efforts are intend- 
ed to influence the volition of numerous individuals, though no one 
can foreknow the eftect upon any particular one of them, the 
probabilities are that, for reasons just stated, a large number will 
be similarly influenced, and, if the efforts have been wisely directed, 
that the desired result will be reached. In individual action each 
adopts the mode which his own knowledge, derived in great meas- 
ure from past experience, suggests. This leads to diversity of action ; 
and combined action requires a common reason, or at least a common 



APPENDIX. '155 

ground for action, and this can often be found in that common or 
general experience of which history is the record. Hence the ob- 
vious application of this science to the enacting of public laws. 

In those efforts by which we do our part in creating the future, 
what we most immediately and pressingly want to know is, what 
next to do, and the farther we can clearly trace the consequences 
of our efforts, the better are we prepared to decide what to do. 
It is evident, however, that in tracing out the consequences of an 
action in all its subsequent ramifications, the problem as to what 
is best to be done soon becomes so complicated that the time for 
action would pass before we could thus decide what to do. 

It seems, however, at least probable, that the more systematic 
study of the past may enable us better to perform our parts in cre- 
ating the proxima'e future, may expand our knowledge of the ways 
of God, and increase our faith in His attributes, and at the same 
time lead us to some very generic ideas of the modes in which He 
manifests these attributes in His government of the world ; and 
these are objects well worthy of our highest efforts. In nearly all 
our efforts to acquire knowledge, our aim is to find out God's ways, 
and read His character in His works. 

The ideas above alluded to, and inculcated in various parts of 
this work, that in our humblest efforts we are co-workers with 
God, taking part with Him in the creation of tlie future, and that 
our ways change His ways, may to some appear irreverent, and 
even arrogant, but they seem to me to furnish the only rational 
ground for hope in effort, or trust in prayer, and that by exclud- 
ing them we would make our noblest efforts and holiest aspira- 
tions the merest mockery. However hallowing and consoling the 
reflex influences of devout prayer may be, the belief in a system 
which would exclude us from all influence upon the future, either 
by our own direct efforts or by petition to the Sovereign power, 
making us but the subjects of a rigid and inexorable despotism. 
Would degrade humanity and involve all the evils of fatalism. 



ANALYSIS OF CONTENTS. 



BOOK I. 

FREEDOM OF MIND IN WILLING. 

pAoa 

CHAPTER I. — Of the Existence of Spibit, . 1 

Postulates of the argument — Knowledge, thought, sensation, emotion, want 
and effort recognized as in one combination ; one mind — Each of such combina- 
tions, associated with a particular form, constitutes what each denominates I 
—Idea of form not essential to our idea of spirit, or intelligent being — Certain 
sensations, which we can and do ourselves produce ; some of the same kind, 
which we know that we do not produce, and, attributing to others, get the idea 
o./ other finite minds ; and others, which we cannot produce ; and thus get the 
idea of Superior Power — This power really infinite, or to us the same as If it 
■were so — We thus come to know ourselves, our fellow beings, and God, as 
Cause. 

CHAPTER II.— Of the Existence of Matter, ...... 6 

We know of it only by our sensations— Sensations not conclusive proof of 
its existence— Sensations may be the thought and imagery of the mind of God 
drectly imparled to us — In either case they represent His thought, and are equal- 
ly real — That they are thought and imagery directly imparted to us, the more 
simple hypothesis, and more in accordance with our own conscious powers — 
Matter not necessary for Spirit to act upon— This illustrated by geometrical 
science— To ignore matter would simplify tbe question of freedom of the mind 
and make creation more intelligible — Not suiHcient proof to warrant this 
course ; but, in either case, the phenomena are the same, and matter is unin- 
telligent and inert. 

CHAPTER III.— Of Mind, 

Its attributes and its faculty of "Will — Its sensations and emotions not de- 
pendent on its will — Its knowledge also not so dependent — But act of will may 
be essential to the acquisition of knowledge— Feeling a property, or suscepti- 
bility, rather than a faculty — Ability to acquire knowledge a capacity, or sense, 
tttther than a faculty — Object of act of will always is to produce some effect in 



458 ANALYSIS OF CONTENTS. 



PAGE 

the future — Supposed faculties of mind, other than will, all but nas es of some 
form of knowledge, or of some mode of effort to acquire it — All knowledge, in 
the lat^t analysis, a simple mental perception — Objection, that these supposed 
faculties sometimes seem to act of themselves, considered — Dednition of 
knowledge and of metaphysical certainty. 

CHAPTER IV.— Liberty, ok Fbeedom, .19 

Opposing terms, compulsion, control, constraint, and restraint — That which 
controls its own action, acts freely. 

CHAPTER v.— Of Cause, . . . . . . 21 

Cause used as that which produces change — Four distinct conceivable kinds 
enumerated — Two of them material, and two intelligent. 

CHAPTER VI.— Of the Will, 24 

Confusion in treating will as a distinct, active entity — Will defined as the 
power or faculty of the mind for effort — Mind cannot be Inert cause — Mind 
has two distinct spheres for its activity ; in one, it seeks to learn what is, and 
in the other to influence the course of events in the future — These connected 
b}' the mind's prophetic power. 

CHAPTER VII.— Of Want, 27 

The term want used to express the conscious condition of the mind, and 
not the thi: g wan;ed — A mere sensation, or emotion, or its absence, is not in 
itself a want — The idea of change an essential element of want — Primary and 
secondary wants — Natural, acquired, and cultivated wants — Natural wants not 
the result of vol tio,; — Acquired want results from some increase of knowledge 
—Influence of want on will not varied by the cause of it. 

CHAPTER Vlli.— Of Matter as Cause, 32 

All changes in matter must arise from motion in it — Cannot move itself, 
and hence cannot be cause, except by first being in motion — Can it thus be- 
come cause? If so, as it may have been in motion from eternity, may always 
have been cause — Other quest' ons upon which this depends— If motion gives 
it causative power, that power is dimi ished in producing effects ; and hence, 
in an eternity, must be reduced to an infinitesimal — Matter in motion subject- 
ed to intelligent control — Matter cannot be made cause by impressing laws 
upon it — Matter an instrument, a means, by which one intelligence communi- 
cates with, or produces effects upon another — If matter be cause, its effects 
cannot affect the freedom of the mind in willing, any more than the effects of 
intelligent causes can — Action of mind on matter — Independent action of 
matter. 

CHAPTER IX.— Of Spirit as Cause, 42 

Spirt is an indispensable, if not the only cause — Relations of the finite to 
the Supreme Intelligence, as cause — Creative powers of the finite mind of man 
B'miUir t'l ihos.' of the Infinite — Man has no faculty by which he can create, 
or even co ceive of the creation of matter as a distinct entity, and there is no 
necuesit.N , or reason to suppose that God has — The human m'nd, within the 



ANALYSIS OF CONTENTS. 459 

PAOG 

sphere of its knowledge, with a coordinate finite presence, is creative — Its in- 
cipient creations are conceptions of its own mind — Its creative power exerted 
In the same manner as that of the Infinite — Creative power of man may be 
secondary in its character — That is, moulds its coiiccptioiie in the same mate- 
rial which God has previously used for a lilje purpose — Our own ideal concep- 
tions distinguishable from the external creation only by their subjection to our 
will— God's conceptions, or creations, also subject to change or annihilation by 
His will — Man's limited power to transfer the conceptions of his own to other 
minds — Finite mind can create not only new forms and new combinations, but 
new thought and new beauty. 

CHAPTER X.— Freedom of Intelligence, 61 

The question should be, not,/s the icill free t but. Does the mind will freely? 
— The willing distinct from its sequence or efteet— Connection between volition 
and its effect — Intelligence must have an object for acting, rather than not act- 
ing—This object must be an effect which it wdTiis to produce ; must arise from 
a viant — With this wane must be associated knowledge of the means of its graU 
iflcation — Action different under different circumstances, and the first step 
must be to examine, or to ascertain the circumstances, and this fact is probably 
intuitively known — Want and knowledge the source in which volitions origi- 
nate and receive their direction — Sources of volition resolvable into an active 
being with knowledge and want- Want and knowledge may be without voli- 
tion — A want may itself be the object wanted — We do not make, but find 
knowledge; and for intuitive knowledge do not have to seek — Deliberation 
necessary in applying acquired knowledge — Without the knowledge of a choice 
in meai.s, the first perceived would be adopted — Experience teaches delibera- 
tion — Delibcrat!o i still but tlie application of knowledge to action — Delibera- 
tion is the considered application of knowledge, leading t-o a judgment — Time 
devoted to it de;ided by the mind — Mind can arrest its impulse to gratify its 
want by the first perceived means, to consider its proposed action — This power 
makes one distinct'on between instinctive and rational actions — We do not 
make any effort for what already is — Every effort is a beginning to do, and is 
an exercise of creative power — Finite mind has creative powers, and capacity 
to use them — Circumstances, examination of which is essential to proper ef- 
fort — We never will to do what we know we cannot do — Mind does not always 
adopt the easiest mode of attaining the ultimate object of its effort — Illustra- 
tion from the want of food — Efforts must be in a certain order, otherwise abor 
five — Effects of a series of finite efforts as clearly manifest desgn as the plan 
etary system — Deliberation illustrated — We do not will as to what is past, but 
to produce some efteet in the future — Mind forms preconceptions of this future 
effect of effort — To will requires a prophetic view of the future, making a 
broad distinction between intelligent and unintelligent cause — The mind's pro- 
plietic power ttis it for a. first came — The mind must determine what change 
it will try to produce — For this, if want aiid knowledge were not fixed and in- 
dependent of will, the data would be insufflcent — If want and knowledge not 
fixed, the mind must form hypothesis to act upon — No power, ignorant of the 
want and th« perceptions of the agent, could determine the will of that agent 
—That want and knowledge are not subject to the will, facilitates the mind in 
the exercise of its freedom in willing — Whether the mind's preconceptions aro 
leal'.zed by its own power, not material to the question of its freedom in will- 



460 ANALYSIS OF CONTENTS. 

PAQI 

Ing— Finite mind exerts 'ts ■jreative power in same manner as the Intin'te — 
Each, respectively, subject to its own conditions — Conflicting wants and wants 
jf activity and repose (note)— Supposed commencement of creation— A creative 
God must make effort — Intelligence a cause, which produces various efiects— 
Another step in creation supposed — Every creative act a heginning of a new 
^realion — Supreme Intelligence acting with coexisting blind cau-os — Acting 
ilso with coexisting intelligent causes — In either case, must will freely — 
Amount of its power makes uo ditference to the freedom of intelligent being 
in willing — Nor does the amount of its knowledge — Hence, the finite intelli- 
gence may be as free as the Infinite — One Intelligence may shape circum- 
stances to influence the will of another, which may be ellective if that other 
acts freely — The period of creation at which the finite mind begins to act does 
not affect its freedom — Every act of will the same, in some respects, as a first 
act^Is the finite mind, in willing, controlled by any other power? — Conceiva- 
ble modes of external control — These modes considered — Influence of other 
intelligences — Influence of circumstances — If mind wills at all, it must will 
freely — Same result more concisely reached through the logical relation of 
terms. 

CHAPTER XL— Instinct and Habit, \» 

The sphere of liberty varies in different orders of intelligence — Each equal- 
ly free in its own sphere of knowledge — Matter has no such sphere, and hence, 
if it had the essential attributes, could manifest no freedom — Being, with sen- 
Bation, but no want, could not will — Knowledge, to be available for willing, 
must extend to the future — The lowest order of intelligence, admitting of will, 
is that with one want and one known means of gratifying it, and this intuitive — 
Instinctive action still voluntary and free — And free, not merely as not coun- 
teracted — In the instinctive, the spheres of knowledge and freedom reach their 
minimum, but are still coexistent — But for the element of knowledge, instinct- 
ive action would be mechanical — Conceivable that first instinctive actions may 
be mechanical — Knowledge that we can will, and how to will, and that by will 
we can produce change in ourselves, could not be taught by practical exam- 
ples, but must be intuitive — Hence, not mechanical— All tlie requisites of will 
incorporated in our being— Instinct may bring the infant within easy effort of 
its object — Absence of deliberatioa in intuitive action — Muscular action the 
basis of our plans for external change — Bodily movement always instinctive — 
This is the point from which instinctive and rational actions take their depart- 
ure—In the instinctive, not only the mode of making the action, but the plan, 
the successive order of volitions, is intuitively known — Inferior free agents 
may still subserve the purposes of a superior — Conflicting modes and wants are 
cases for the exercise of judgment— Imitative actions diverging from instinct- 
ive — Distinguishing features of instinctive actiim — Some cases of rational ac- 
tion liable to be confounded w.th instinctive — When we are conscious of form- 
ing a plan of action this does not occur — "When we work from memory of a 
plan, intuitive or acquired, it is habit— Peculiar characteristics of habit — Sim- 
ilarity of instinctive and habitual action — Analogy of habitual to mechanical 
action — Rational act'on?, in becoming habitual, approach the instinctive — Cus- 
tomary actions belong to the same group — Recapitulation of actions, mechan- 
oal, instinctive, rational, customary, and habitual — Habit has same relation to 



ANALYSIS OF CONTENTS. 4G1 



PAOH 

astion tliat memory hfiB to knowledge, and depends on memory and associa- 
tion — ^Tliat habit applies to actions which we have most frequent occasion to 
perform, increases its benefits, yet often regarded as a vice of the mind— Rea- 
sons why It id so regarded. 

CHAPTER XII.— Illustration from Chess, . . . ,126 

Known laws of the game somewhat analogous to intuitive knowledge — First 
moves may be habitual— Subsequently the player deliberately forms precoii 
oeptions and compares them — Does not examine every possible move, but de- 
termines how long to examine by an exercise of judgment — Each volit'on to 
move the same as if ho had never before moved — A mor-'^ complicated gtime 
supposed, more nearly resemblingthat of reaMife — The skilful succeed against 
many opponents ; and Infinite Wisdom would accomplish Its end though op- 
posed by any number of finite intelligences, all acting as freely as itself— The 
uninitiated see no order or design in the game — It is a creation having its own 
laws — Automaton chess-player— But for the uniformity of God's actions, the 
efforts of finite agents would be imijossible — Case in which, by the laws of the 
game, only one move is possible, and analogous cases in real life — Compliance 
with the laws of the game, as with the laws of Cod, may become habitual, but 
this does not conflict with freedom — Influence of law on individual action — The 
word law, in such cases, used in two distinct senses, but the knowledge of the 
law, In either sense, important in deciding our efforts. 

CHAPTER XIII. — Of Want and Effort in Various Orders of Intelli- 
gence, 13?. 

Want requisite to all but t1ie lowest forms of animated existence- Imputa- 
tion of want to the Supreme Being — A sole flrstcause, without want, would im- 
mediately become inert — Intelligence must have a ret lining power and some 
adaptation to put its retained power in action — If matter is cause, no applica- 
tion of a self-moving power to it is possible — If the activity of any intelligence 
ceases, it cannot put itself in action again — No intelligent being can do any- 
thing unless it makes effort to do something — Want rouses the mind to effort, 
but does not direct the effort — Effort the condition of cause in the Infinite as in 
the finite being — Some cause with power to produce change, which it does n"*. 
of necessity immediately exert, is necessary— Mind and matter in motion the 
only such causes conceivable — The existence of God can:iot, of itself, be the 
cause of anything which ever began to be— Eftbrt makes the distinction be- 
tween that condition of a being in which it seeks to produce change and that 
in which it does not — If in the Supreme Being there is no such distinction, all 
effects must be independent of His action — Reasons why it is tliought Omnipo- 
teiiCe may produce effects without effort — Omnipotence has its bound in the 
absolutely impossible — Want has with it the germ of its own gratification — 
Man may design change, and make effort to actualize his design, though no 
other intelligence or power in existence — The mode of connection between vo- 
litiiins and their sequences not important to the act of will, 

CHAPTER XIV.— Of Effort for Internal Change, 145 

Question stated — Do we produce the sequences of volition? — The important 
fact is. that our volitions are necessary to fhexw— Effects of efibrt for internal 



462 ANALYSIS OF CONTENTS. 



PAoa 

change as uniform and as inscrutible as for external — We can induce spiritual 
ay well as physical want, but cannot directly will either into existence— Increas- 
ing our knowledge the only means for this, and, though it may sometimes have 
the opposite effect, Is still the only mode^Constitutional occurrence and recur- 
rence of our spiritual wants — Want the source of effort for internal changes in 
all intelligent beings— General moral evil and individual depravity — Man's 
knowledge infallible as to what, for him, is morally right— Directs his efforts 
for internal change by means of his preconceptions — In forming these, need not 
recognize existing circnmstances — An advantage of the purely ideal concep- 
tions — In the moral nature the willing is the consummation, and hence, i-n it, 
mind is a supreme creative first cause — Distinction between effort in the moral 
sphere and out of it — A man who does not want to be pure and noble may be- 
gin with the want to want to be pure and noble — Virtue all lies in the effort, 
and not in its sequence — Not any present moral wrong in want, or knowledge, 
and hence all moral right and wrong concentrated in the act of will — Efforts to 
bo pure and noble may become habitual— We may indirectly discard a want — 
A being with no want for what is unholy cannot be unholy — Cannot will what 
is contradictory to its own nature — Though many of our moral wants are in- 
nate, they may be cultivated, enabling us to influence our moi'al characteristics 
at their source — Conclusion from the foregoing, that man in the sphei'e of his 
moral nature is a supreme and a sole creative first cause — Man's will inOnite, 
but limited in its range, because his power of conception is finite — This power 
may forever increase — Man responsible and accountable for his acts of will. 

CHAPTER XV.— Conclusion, 161 

Recapjtulaticm of the previous results and leading positions — Wants seem- 
ingly insignificant may be the basis of contests for the mastery of empires — 
Man bountifully provided with wants^Physical wants temporary — Made less 
inconstant by the secondary want of acquisition — They are preliminary to the 
soul's progress, teaching effort ; though this provision is often counteracted by 
acquisitiveness with a material bias — Spiritual want essential— Early ideal 
constructions and influence of the romantic passion — " Castle building" — The 
interest which attaches to the products of our labor — Influence of wants not 
left to accidental occurrences — Recurrence of both spiritual and bodily wants 
amply provided for — Each has within hina-self an inchoate and, to him, a 
boundless universe, which is his especial sphere of creative action — Construct- 
ing this universe within himself the principal, if not the sole end of life. 



BOOK 11. 

EEVIEW OF EDWARDS ON THE WILL. 

Introduction, 173 

CHAPTER I.— Edwards's Definition of Will, ,177 

Edwards's definition of will— He identifies volition with choice and prefer- 
ince, and willing with cbuoiing and preferring — His definition admits of vari- 



ANALYSIS OF CONTENTS. 463 



PAQIS 

cua constructions— Confounds the process of choosing with the result ot th« 
process — ^Also asserts that aa act of choice is a comparative act of the mind — 
Proof that the comparative act is not itself the act of choice, and that the 
choice, which in some cases is the result of a comparative act, is not an act of 
■wiU, but is knowledge— The choice to will preceding the act of will considertd 
— Edwards's deiinitions of choice as an act of will, and also as the result of a 
comparative act, involve an absurdity— In making choice an act of will, he 
makes it the last act of the mind in relation to the effect intended — Cases 
mt«itioned by Edwards in which the soul would rather have or do distinguish- 
able, and the question whether choice is ever an act of will, examined— Ed- 
wards's use of the word choice confounds the understanding with the will — 
Further proof that choice is knowledge, and not act of will — Sophism admitted 
by making choice a synonym for will — Difficulties encountered by Edwards, 
growing out of his definition — Difference in a man's preferring to walk and 
preferring to fly— Edwards constrained to admit exertion, but having no space 
between choice and effect, must crowd it into one or the other — My views ap- 
plied to explain the difference of the cases of preferring to walk and preferring 
to fly — Edwards's intention to use the word choice in its popular sense — Reca- 
pitulation. 

CHAPTER II.— Liberty as Defined by Edwards, . , , , .201 

Edwards asserts that the only liberty in man is power " to cio as he pleases," or 
" conducting as he wills" — This places liberty in that in the doing of which we 
are not conscious of having any agency — In this case the mind has no liberty 
in willing, and the definition begs the question — The hypothesis that the will- 
ing is itself a doing considered. 

CHAPTER III.— Natural and Moral Kboessitt, , . . . .204 

Edwards's definitions of these terms — Much confusion from vague use of 
some of the terms— Every intelligent being with will a distinct cause — Hence 
our will cannot change the course of nature, except by being an independent 
cause — God's action or the counter-willing of finite minds may, either of them, 
control or influence the effect intended by another, without interfering with 
the freedom of that other in willing— The argument is rather against the free- 
dom of man in doing than in wtVimo-— Edwards's definition admits three dis- 
tinct Intelligent causes, each acting freely — The term "■necessity'''' used in dif- 
ferent senses in defining natural and moral necessity — Edwards makes " mo- 
tive" a cause, producing volition, or makes human volitions the direct action 
of God — The argument from these definitions stated — The hypothesis, that the 
same causes of necessity produce the same effects, essen'.ial to it — It assumes 
that human volitions are a part of a necessary chain of events — Yet asserts 
that the mind encounters diffisulties in bringing them to pass — The assump- 
tion that the human will is finite shown to be an error, and especially if it is 
" cAozce"— Supposed difficulty in willing examined, and found not to be in the 
willing, but in finding or knowing what to will — The martyr and the craven 
equally free in willing — Difference in action indicates difference in character — 
Modes in which we form our own characters and aid each other in doing it — 
The difficulty spoken of by Edwards consists in the conflict between present 
pleasure, and right or future good— That a man may will against such convic- 



464 ANALYSIS OP CONTENTS. 

PAO> 

Mons may prove that he is not pure and wise, but not that he is not free — The 
particular cases of moral inability stated by Edwards — Examination of those 
cases— All analogous to those of inability to will, because there is no want — In- 
ability to will what we do not want to will is not against freedom — No reason 
to suppose that a /)ret;jo2is bias or inclination will prevail over the present in 
the act of will— If it does, it is because the biased or inclined mind itself con- 
trols the act of will — As in the case of "nature of things," Edwards makes 
"habit" a power, or cause — ISTo certainty and no necessity that habits will 
continue — Habits of a man influence his act of will only in case he wills freely 
— Man is said to be a slave to his habits ; reasons why — The argument from 
moral necessity only proves that a man wills in conformity to what he wills, 
and natural necessity only implies that he cannot always execute what he 
wills. 

CHAPTER IV.— Self-Detekmination, 233 

The argument against the self-determining power of the will irrelevant to 
my position — Edwards's statement of his argument against the soul's deter- 
mining its volitions in the exercise of its power of willing— From which it can 
only be inferred, that whatever is true of acts of will is true of acts of choice — 
Changing the word"«re" to "Jy" vitiates the argument — Confusion from 
using clioice as the process of choos'ng, and also as the result of the process, 
and "mind " and " will" as equivalents — Edwards does not recognize mind as 
cause — There must be something to move the mind, as it does not act without 
a reason— Edwards finds this prime mover in his "motives ;" I have ascribed 
it to "want" — Control, by a previous act of will, fatal to freedom in the pres- 
ent act — Edwards's favorite reductio ad absurdum that a self-determined or 
free act admits of no first free act, fallacious. 

CHAPTER v.— No Event without a Cause, 24C 

Edwards says he applies the word cause to what has no positive influence — 
This facilitates his proof, but makes it unavailing for his purpose— Edwards's 
positions being admitted, if mind is itself cause, they prove its freedom in will- 
ing — He assumes that the cause of a volition must be not only without the vo- 
lition, but without the mind that wills — If the act of mind, as cause, must have 
a cause, for tlie reason that everything which beg'ns to be must have a cause, 
there can be no first act of cause — The soul itself, being the cause of its voli- 
tions, is not, in them, the subject of effects which have no cause — The question 
why the soul exerts such an act and not another considered — Examination of 
Edwards's position that " activity of nature " cannot be the cause why the 
mind's action is thus and thus determined — This argument also vitiated by 
cliano-ing in to bt/, or by assuming that of two terms expressii^g the same thing 
one is the cause of the other — Volition cannot be determined by the "past." 

CHAPTER VI.— Of the Will's Determining in Things Indifferent, . 259 

Edwards's statement of the question imperfect, though warranted by ex- 
tracts from his opponents — As he .states it, one thing is indiflferent, and anotlier 
chooses — Other of his arguments founded on h's assumption that will and 
choice are Identical — His use of the phrase " determining power" ambiguous, 
applying either to mind or will — Another stateme.it of the argument — Ed- 



ANALYSIS OF CONTENTS. 46^ 



PAQIi 

wards supposes the mind to devise a way of getting itself out of a state of in- 
diflference, and illustnites by the touching of one of the squares of a chess 
board — His argument denies tliat the mind can get itself out of a state of indif- 
ference, yet begins by showing how it can do so — Mind's doing, indirectly by 
volition, what it cannot do directly, is nor- against its freedom — In this case 
such indirection (the giving itself up to accident) does not obviate the suppos- 
ed difl&culty, but increases it — Just as diiScultfor the mind to determine what 
accident as wliat square of the chess board — Edv/ards might as well have 
made the movement of the finger as the movement of the eye determine the 
square to be touched — In either ca»e, the diiBculty of indiflterence may recur — 
There is the same difficulty of indifference in applying the accident, even if it 
can be selected — The whole causal etBcacy must be, not in the accident, but in 
the rule which the mind makes to apply it, in doing which it again encounters 
indifference— The mind can as well make the rule to touch a particular square 
without the accident as with it — The whole efficacy of the proposed plan is in 
the mmiVs governiTig itself by an arbitrary rule which itself has created — The 
indirection would not aid the argument for necessity, but these supposed 
cases of indifference militate against it — If choice, among the objects of effort, 
is essential to will, a man never could will if there was only one object — Not 
necessary to an act of will that we should select, or choose even, among objects 
which we know to be different — The bearing of the views elicited in Book I. 
on this question — Similarity of cases of indifference and those of icanting to 
will— The apparent analogy of Edwards's mode of deciding them to that of de- 
ciding between parties having equal claims — But this would as well be accom- 
plished by a direct act of will — If decided by lot, or accident, an arbitrary rule 
must still be made — Analogy of the cases of indifference to matter kept at rest 
by equal counter forces. 

CHAPTER VIL— Relation of Indifference to Ebeedom in Willing, . 29A 

Edwards uses the term indifference as directly opposed to preference — His 
argument against the soul's sovereign power in certain cases, only proves that 
if the soul wills when it does not will, then its willing is not wholly owiiig to 
itself — Much confusion from using the term inclination as identical with will, 
and yet as something which goes before it — Another of his arguments only 
proves that the mind is not free in wiU'ng when it is not willing at all— And 
this and the subsequent reasoning only proves that the mind cannot both will 
and not will at the same time — His statement that a yVee act of will cannot 
immediately arise out of a state of indifference, considered — He assumes that 
choice is a necessary element of free will — Argument thus far avails only on 
certain inadmissible premises, and has little application to my positions — For 
the purposes of this argument, Edwards's assumption that choice is a pre- 
requisite of a free act of wiU may be admitted — Form in which this admission 
may be most plausibly used against freedom — The essential element of free ac- 
tion is not choice, but self-direction — Suspending volition — Edwards assumes 
that suspending volition must be an act of volition — If so, the mind never can 
stop willing, for suspending its willing is only another willing — Even then the 
mind could suspend action in one direction by acting in another — And liberty 
in every action might still be maintained — What is meant by suspending an 
act of wiU — Illustrations from reading aloud —Do we will either to will or not 



466 ANALYSIS OF CONTENTS. 

PAoa 

to will ? — Ifearest appro:ioh to willing to will is wlieK we want exercise for the 
faculty of will and act capriciously— Iiidifteronce indicates the point of depart- 
ure from the pass ve to the active state ; perfect in the non-active state of pro- 
found sleep — Vigilance of the mind as to changes alsout it which may call for 
eSbrt— Eflort to find what changes are taking place, or what action these 
changes require, is attention — To know these changes does not always re- 
quire effort — Changes often occurring aiid requiring no action, as the striking 
of a clock, are immediately forgotten — Reason why monotonous sounds favor 
reverie and the concentration of the mind in abstract thought. 

CHAPTER VIIL— CoNTiNGBNCE, 3il3 

Treated by Edwards in Part II., sections 8 and 9 — If mind is the cause of 
its acts of will, then Edwards's argument only proves that they are necessarily 
connected with mind, and not that mind is not free — Edwards absurdly argues 
that the mind is not free in the act cf willing, because the act of wiU is connect- 
ed wi'th the mind — His argument also involves the contradiction that mind is 
not free, because it cannot be otherwise than free — In chapter xiii. applies sim- 
ilar reasoning to prove that if the will controls itself it cannot be free, because 
controlled by itself — Fallacy of this and preceding argument — From the posi- 
tion that every effect is dependent on its cause, Edwards infers, not that the 
effect, but that the action of the cause is necessitated— Necessary futility of 
reasoning on his statement, which really only asserts that a man wills what he 
wills — The hypothesis that there are other mental faculties which influence 
the will considered in its relation to the mind's freedom in willing — Edwards's 
artcument denies the possibility of this ; but with more reason it might be said 
that all cause is of necessity free — Even matter in motion is not constrained or 
restrained till it comes to the producing of an effect — Any force or power sub- 
ject to extrinsic control is an implement rather than a cause — Essential difl'er- 
ence in the freedom of intelligent and material causes. 

CHAPTER IX. — Connection op the Will with the Understanding, . 328 

Sometimes the last dictate is neither an act of will nor followed by an act of 
will— If will is choice, it never follows the last dictate of the understanding— 
If it does, still not against the mind's freedom or self-determining power in 
willing — Edwards attempts to prove that the will, as a distinct entity, is not 
xree — Act of will not always necessary to the mind's attention — Mind may be- 
gin by an effort to obtain the requisite knowledge, or may direct its action by a 
simple perception of it — Edwards's position in regard to the will's following 
the last dictate of the understanding really confirms the freedom of mind in 
vvilling. 

CHAPTER X.-MoTivE, . 327 

Statement of Edwards's argument on motive — Varies his definition of will 
to accommodate the argument— His argument, even admitting his definition of 
will, is still fallacious— Mis definition of m jtive amounts only to "that which 
is a motive is a motive" — As impossible to deduce any new truth from such 
definition as from the expression " whatever is, is " — The argument, as he 
states it, does not contravene that of his opponents — The difficulty is radical, 
arising from defining motive not by what it is, but by what it must do — To 



ANALYSIS OF CONTENTS. 467 



PAGE 

coiiform to tho defluition and admit the dedLC.Iou uf necessity, the motive 
must control the mind — The motive cannot itself determine that it is the 
strongest — This must be done hy the intelligent being that wills — His positions 
involve an infinite series with no beginning — Tiiat the mind has in itself, or its 
own view, a motive, no reason why it does not act freely — Whether motives 
prove necessity or freedom must depend on their character or influence — Ed- 
wards uses " motive" sometimes as meaning the mitid^s mew of an object, ai:d 
at others the object viewed — The assertion that the mind is governed by its own 
views afllrms its freedom— The point that, if the mind determines itself by its 
own view, the object viewed is still essentia, to that view, considered — The ex- 
istence of objects of choice cannot be a reason why the mind does not will free- 
ly — Freedom does not imply a power to malie existing circumstances difi"erent 
from what they are at tlie time — Classifioaliou of objects, which may possibly 
be motives, uader Edwards's d ;finition — These considered in their order — 
Vague popular notions in regard to the inSuenoe of circumstances — Particular 
cases, as stated by Edwards, make motive the mind's view of the future effects 
of its own action— Inquiry as to the meaning of "previous tendency"— The ar- 
gument again leads to an infinite series, and makes the act of (will) choice be- 
fore that by which the mind chooses has acted — In Edwards's system, motive, 
or previous tendency of motive, must be an act of choice springing directly out 
of a state of indifterence— Same difliculty in regard to motive which Edwards 
finds in regard to will— This difficulty attaches to every system which does not 
recognize a self moving power or cause. 

CHAPTER XI.— Cause and Effect, ... .... 36* 

Tlie argument of Edwards assumes that the same causes of necessity pro- 
duce the same effects— If the same cause never acted twice there could be no 
applicat'on of the rule— The law is deduced from observation, and cannot be 
of metaphysical necessity — No reason to suppose the law goes farther than our 
observatio.. 8 indicate — That there is no general rule without exceptions, con- 
flicts with it — No reason to suppose that God may not vary from any law of 
uniformity which he has established for His own government— That He is om- 
niscient obviates the necessiti/ of trying different modes — In mind, observation 
does not indicate any such law — To all appearance, different minds act differ- 
ently, and even the same mind changes its mode in similar circumstances — No 
case can arise for the application of the rule to mind — Under such rule a sole 
First Cause never could have produced but one effect— The application of this 
rule to intelligent cause denies any continuing power to produce changes in the 
universe — As applied to God, the rule can only mean that He has adopted uni- 
form rules for His government — The finite mind, after having tried one mode, 
may, upon the recurrence of the same circumstances, try another — As used by 
Edwards, the law of cause and effect involves an infinite series with no begin- 
ning of action— -There must be some cause which has power to change itself as 
cause, or to vary its effects — Changes in matter must be referred to an intelli- 
gent will — Some things may have been made not uniform, to vary the prob- 
lems of life, for the development of the finite intelligence — No difliculty in sup- 
posing that the finite mind maybe f first or originating cause — If mind is 
cause, tho necessity of volition as its effect does not prove that mind is not free 
— The uniformity of God's action is necessary to and argues the existence of 



468 ANALYSIS OF CONTENTS. 



PAoa 

finite free agents — The argument that, if the same circumstances oocnr a 
thousand times to mind in the same condition, its action will be the same, ex- 
amined. 

CHAPTT^R XII.— GoD'3 Foreknowledge, 384 

Edwards argues that the acts of the will must he necessary, because God 
foreknows them — Unavailing reply to this — An event foreknown by infallible 
prescience must be as certain in the future as if known by infallible memory in 
the past, and GoA^e,/oreknoicledge of free volitions Is contradictory — The other 
link in the argument of Edwards, that God munt foreknow, denied — Edwards's 
position that, without foreknowledge of men's volitions, God could not be able 
properly to govern the universe — His argument goes rather to disprove freedom 
in executing the volitions than in the volitions themselves — God, foreknowing 
all the effects of human volition which are possible, can provide in advance for 
any contingence — That He may do this without deviating from uniform modes 
of action, illustrated by an automatic chess-board — He may also deviate from 
such uniformity in miracles — And, in many things, we do not know that He has 
established any uniformity — Foreknowledge, for the purpose of making sea 
Bonable provision, not necessary when the power is Loiinite — Foreknowledge 
of God hag the same relntlon to His actions that preconceptions of man have 
to his. 

CHAPTER XIII.-O0NCLUSION, ... 401 

Recapitulation of the argument — Edwards's eiToneous and incompatible 
defliiitions of Will and Choice — His favorite reductio ad absurdum and various 
Boph.tms fnu; ded on these errors— His error in defining Freedom — His argn- 
menl Irom Moral Necessity and Moral Ii:ability, and supposed difficulties in 
willing — His argument from the connection of volition with a prior cause— Mo- 
tive— Habit as a motive — Assumption that the same causes necessarily produce 
the same eli'ects — IndiiFerence and Contingence — Last dictate of the under- 
standing — Willing in oases of indiflerence — Foreknowledge — Edwards's idea of 
it would deprive God of the highest attributes of creative intelligence. 





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